Ranger Redefined
by AutumnDreaming
Summary: Totally Babe. Set after Notorious Nineteen, Stephanie has finally had enough of Joyce Barnhardt, and she's decided it's time to take out the trash. With a no-holds-barred plan in motion, Stephanie actively seeks revenge on her arch-nemesis while Ranger looks on with concern and a little introspection. Lula, Connie, Vinnie, Joe, and others join in the destruction. Babe Ending.
1. The Mission

My name is Stephanie Plum, and I'm a bounty hunter, working for my cousin Vinnie. At least, I have been, up until now.

Vincent Plum Bail Bonds on Hamilton Ave has been recently rebuilt following a slight case of arson, which was totally Vinnie's fault. Vinnie didn't burn it down. But he pissed off the guy that did.

I was standing in Vinnie's office, which was larger than ever with a private bathroom, giving him my fiercest death glare, my blue eyes narrowed to slits. After rewarding himself with his glorified office, he bought second-hand furniture and filing cabinets for Connie, his office manager, and Lula, our filing clerk. I still had to buy my own handcuffs. My brown hair was pulled back in a pony tail, but I felt disheveled from nearly tearing my hair out only moments ago. Vinnie is a hedonistic, ferret-faced, weasel and a menace to ducks everywhere. If that doesn't make sense to you now, it will when you meet him.

At 5'9", Vinnie may be a few inches taller than I am, but right now he's sinking fast into his leather office chair, as if slipping under his desk is going to save him.

"Vinnie!" I yelled, hands fisted on my hips, trying hard not to jump over the desk to remove this rotten branch from my family tree, permanently.

"What?" he whined in his most pathetic voice, his nasal Jersey accent making it all that much more annoying. His greasy black Italian hair, slicked back as usual, was leaving an oily trail down the back of the chair. I could see he was reaching for the gun he usually kept taped up under the desk, but he wasn't finding it. I knew this, because it was pressing into my back under my waistband. I grabbed it while I was chasing him around the desk, trying to get my hands around his throat.

"This is the last straw!" I screamed. "You know how I feel about Joyce Barnhardt! You know that I have put my own blood, sweat, and tears into this job. And I deserve better than this! The Masterson case was mine!"

"Look, it's a job. You do the job, or you don't get paid. You're the one who blackmailed me to get this job. Now you act like you don't want it. You've had that case for three days. Where's Masterson?"

"It's only been three days! Masterson is wanted for triple homicide. He's lying low. I'm not going to find him standing on a street corner, Vinnie!"

"I think you're scared. Why don't you just take the flasher in the park. I'll bet he's standing on a street corner, just waiting for you. Joyce doesn't mind going after the high dollar bonds."

"Are you serious!" I yelled, pressing my hands to my temples to keep my head from exploding. "Just a few months ago, you racked up a $786,000 gambling debt and got the bond's office burned down! Who came to your rescue? You were chained up naked being guarded by scary men with prison tats. They only gave you a few days to live unless they got their money. Who risked life and limb to get you out? Who fought a prehistoric alligator to steal the money to save your scrawny, perverted hide? And you're calling me a coward? I should have left you there. I can't believe I was such an idiot!"

"Hey, we're family. You have no choice when it comes to family. But this is business," Vinnie started.

"That's where your wrong," I said, grabbing the revolver from my back and pulling the hammer. "I have a choice. If this is what you plan to do with the life I saved," I said, unable to even finish, I was so angry.

"Wait! Wait! We can talk!" Vinnie squealed, slipping under the desk. "Connie! Connie! Help!"

"You're on your own," Connie yelled back from the other room.

I unloaded into the left and right side drawers of the wooden desk, knowing I would probably miss Vinnie unless I got lucky and he was caught by a ricochet. I couldn't really kill my own cousin, but it was tempting. He was screaming like a little girl, and he'd no doubt wet his polyester pants. That was going to have to be enough satisfaction for me, at least for now.

The gun was too warm to put back into my waistband, so I tossed it in my bag.

"I quit," I told him. "You want Joyce to work for you, fine. Good luck with that."

I stormed out, not even looking at Lula or Connie. They were both sitting on the couch looking shell shocked.

I hate Joyce Barnhardt. In kindergarten, Joyce spit in my milk. In second grade, she spilled water down the back of my chair and told everyone I wet my pants. In sixth grade, she started a rumor that I didn't wear underwear. In high school, she ruined relationships and published locker room photos. Somewhere during that time, the fat kid with an overbite filled out and started stealing my would-be boyfriends. When I was 24, after less than a year of marriage, I found Joyce's bare ass on my new dining room table, playing hide the salami with my very-soon-to-be-ex-husband.

My late 20's to early 30's had Joyce following me around trying to steal my paycheck as well as Joe Morelli. Joe is a Trenton cop turned homicide detective, and he's movie star handsome with a hot Italian libido. He's plain clothes, wearing t-shirts, jeans and sneakers. He's always got a five o'clock shadow and his hair is careless perfection. Joe was my childhood crush and, years later, had the potential to become the love of my life. He loves animals, including my hamster, Rex, and his dog, Bob. He loves to eat, and so do I. We like the same movies and music. We know all the same people. We would be very comfortable together except that Joe hates my job and wants me to be a housewife and I would rather chew glass.

And then there's Ranger. Ranger is former special forces. He worked for Vinnie for a while early on, but now he owns Rangeman, offering security services of all kinds with offices in Trenton and Miami. He opened and sold offices in Boston and Atlanta. Ranger was my mentor in the fugitive apprehension business. He's Cuban-American, with delicious mocha-latte skin, smoldering black eyes, and a body like Rambo, but better. He always wears black, usually looking like SWAT. He's tough mentally and physically. He lives like Batman. His bat cave is his apartment on the 7th floor of the Rangeman building in the center of the city. And like Bruce Wayne, he has money to buy top of the line cars and equipment. He still works off and on as a mercenary, or so he lets me believe. No one really knows where Ranger goes, but every once in a while, he disappears for a few weeks. Lula was the first to notice that these disappearances seem to coincide with the rise and fall of Third World or South American countries, or at least, notable skirmishes in the area.

At first, Ranger took me on as a sort of joke, for his own amusement. I remember the first time we met, he said, "There's me, and then there's you, and you aren't ever gonna be as good as me, Sweet Thing." I have spent years trying to learn from Ranger, but in the end, he was right. An average Jersey Girl my have a lot of spunk and attitude, and I may even get the job done, but I'll never hold a candle to a Special Forces Army Ranger when it comes to wrestling a skip to the ground, let alone, all the way to the cop shop. I can't pick locks. I hate guns. I don't know how to tell a bomb from a birthday present, let alone how to defuse one. I don't have access to listening devices or tracking equipment. I don't know how to signal with Morse Code or flags or smoke signals. I speak Berg English and can make Italian hand gestures, but that's it. Ranger can do all this an so much more. Ranger's number one when he's got the intel. But, here's the thing: the Army, the FBI, the CIA, even Interpol doesn't have the intel connections of a Jersey Girl. These days, Ranger sometimes relies on me to find his man, and I sometimes rely on Ranger to help me bring in my toughest skips. It's become a symbiotic relationship. And at times, it's become more than that.

But today, that was all going to change. Today, Vinnie had given his number one skip to Joyce Barnhardt, despite the fact that he knew Connie and Lula and I would strenuously object to having Joyce around at all. We all knew he did this in exchange for kinky sexual favors, and I didn't want details. I couldn't care less. But what killed me was that Vinnie was continuing in his old ways, thinking with his Johnson and showing no consideration for those around him. It was Connie and Lula and I who were keeping him from ending up in little pieces in the landfill.

Joyce was probably still involved with my ex-husband, the less-than-notable attorney Dickie Orr. Last time I was in his office, there was a framed photo of him and Joyce on his desk. Her power over men and their private parts was not to be believed. While Joe sometimes joked about having Joyce over, Ranger referred to dealing with Joyce as being "thrown into the shark tank,". I knew neither of them would ever give her the time of day, let alone a tumble. It was driving her crazy. But to tell the truth, every time I saw Joyce tailing Ranger or saw evidence that she'd been in Joe's house, it made me feel like I was standing in the doorway of my dining room all over again.

For years, Joe and I had considered marriage. Ranger had offered a lot of other things, but marriage wasn't one of them. Still, I had resisted both men as far as solid commitment was concerned. I made a lot of excuses, but today I had clarity. Today I knew it was fear. Fear that one day I would find my man with Joyce, or someone like Joyce...maybe Jean Ellen Burrows, Ranger's competitor and Cat Woman to his Batman, or Terry Gilman, Joe's former girlfriend with the perfect body. I had always feared that I would never be good enough to keep either Joe or Ranger long term. And I was sick of it.

Joyce seemed to be obsessed with making my life miserable. I didn't know why, but I was going to find out. My new mission was two fold. First, I was going to find out what I had done to make Joyce crazy. And then, I was going to figure out how to make her life hell. It was petty, maybe. Revenge is best served cold. Sure. I should bide my time. But right now, all I was seeing was red.


	2. The Parameters

I stopped by Pino's for subs and then popped into the video store. I had to ask the girl behind the counter for help, but finally found the movie I needed. It was for research. It was for motivation. It was for hope that I had a chance in hell of pulling this off.

I raced home and popped She-Devil into the DVD player. Roseanne Barr played a frumpy, unappreciated housewife and mother of two, who had finally had enough. She made a list of what her philandering husband had told her he valued most in life: home, family, career, and freedom.

I went to my kitchen junk drawer and brought a pad of sticky notes and a pencil into the living room. I pulled off four sticky notes and laid them out in front of me, thinking about them as the movie played. Joyce's life didn't really mirror the husband's character, but the categories were pretty broad.

On the first sticky note I wrote "home." After multiple marriages, Joyce had perfected gold digging to an art form. She was living in a large, white Colonial with black shutters. It could double as a Southern plantation if someone from the art school needed to shoot a re-make of Gone With the Wind. The lawn was professionally maintained. I didn't know what the property was worth or if she had a mortgage, but I was going to bet it would be a painful loss.

On the second sticky note I wrote "family". Joyce's parents were never around. Joyce's only living family was her brother Kevin Barnhardt. Kevin and Joyce were raised by their grandparents, who had passed away. I wrote "parents" and "Kevin" on the sticky note. Kevin was gay. So, in reality, I not only had to worry about Joyce stealing my boyfriends, I had to worry about Kevin. Not that Joe or Ranger are gay. But in high school, it was a real concern. Not that making a fuss about Kevin would embarrass Joyce. Nothing about sex embarrassed Joyce.

On the third sticky note I wrote "career". Joyce didn't really have a career other than home-wrecker and gold-digger. But she needed her porn-star looks for that, so I wrote "looks" on that one.

On the fourth sticky note I wrote "freedom". In the movie, the husband goes to jail for swindling his clients. There was probably plenty that Joyce could be sentenced to jail time for. I just needed to do a little digging. For now, I just wrote "car". I know what it's like to be without a vehicle. Transportation definitely falls under the "freedom" category.

I watched the movie twice. The apparently dim-witted tart working for the husband in his office provided the evidence that sent him to jail. Maybe those dim-witted ex-husbands would like to see a little payback. Sure they would. On the fourth sticky note I wrote "husbands".

Just then, my cell phone rang. It was Ranger.

"Yo," I answered, sounding annoyed.

Silence on the other end.

"Did you want something?"

"Babe," he said. Babe can mean anything. This time it meant that he'd heard about my tantrum at the bonds office.

"I don't want to talk about it."

"Can I assume you'd like to come back to work for Rangeman?" He sounded pleased, but not exactly smug. Smug would have made it easier for me to turn him down.

"No. But thanks."

"Going to try the Button Factory again? Or the Personal Products Plant?"

I rolled my eyes. "Not this time." I tried to sound as determined as I had felt before he called.

"Not going to do something desperate, are you?" This time, he sounded concerned.

"Define desperate."

"If you need help, I'm your man," he said. This gave me pause. Ranger was magic in more ways than one. Among his myriad of talents, he could make cars appear and people disappear.

"Not necessary," I said, swallowing hard.

"Babe." This time, his tone was softer, almost a caress via phone. "You want company?"

"Not this time."

"Let me know if you change your mind," he said, and he was gone.

I breathed out a sigh. What was I really expecting to accomplish by eliminating Joyce? Was I going to have to eliminate Jeanne Ellen and Terry too? And then who else? Where would it end?

Get a grip, Stephanie. Jeanne Ellen and Terry were irritating, but neither of them gave me a second thought. Joyce, on the other hand, was obsessed with horning in on any happiness I had ever had. Joyce was going down. I couldn't respect myself if I kept letting her run over me like a lawn mower.

I went to the fridge for a beer and tossed a piece of carrot to Rex. He poked his little hamster nose out of his soup can and raced out for the carrot.

"What do you think, Rex? Should I destroy Joyce Barnhardt?"

He tucked the carrot into his cheek pouch and scurried back into his can.

"Ok. Good talk."

If my life were a movie, Joyce would have off'd herself by now. The good character never causes the demise of the evil character. The evil character is usually done in while attempting to harm the good character. But nothing tragic enough had happened to stop Joyce. She'd shot at me, but the bullet didn't ricochet off my rear window or tail light. She'd moved into my apartment and refused to leave, but she didn't get electrocuted in my bathroom. She'd walked into my parent's house when Ranger came over for dinner and sat right down at our dining room table. Did my dad or Ranger shoot the trespasser? No. Grandma made her a plate!

The only scene that came close was the time Joyce swiped a casserole dish full of barbecue from me and took it to Morelli's, passing it off as her own. She actually tried to woo my guy with my own cooking. It gave Joyce, Morelli, and Bob a chronic case of diarrhea that wouldn't soon be forgotten.

That was never going to happen again. No more Miss Berg Manners. No more trying to rise above and be the bigger person. This time, I was changing the channel. I was going to be Rambo. I was going to be The Punisher. I was going to be The Terminator. You know, when he came back in T2 and was the good guy. The action hero was never portrayed as Mr. Nice Guy. I had tangled with countless FTA's. I struck back only in self-defense, but I won most of my fights. I had kicked Razzle Dazzle's ass. I had kicked the King Fisher's ass. I was going to clean the floor with Joyce Barnhardt.

I dialed Lula.

"Hey, Girlfriend. We've been worried about you."

"I'm fine. I have a plan. I'll understand if you don't want to help me. I probably shouldn't even be asking."

"Are you going after Joyce?"

"Yeah."

"Then you're right. You shouldn't even be asking. You should know I'm all for that plan. We'll execute the hell out of that plan."

"Great," I said.

"What's the plan?"

I told Lula the plan.

"That's a little vague. I was expecting something like taking Bob for a walk on her lawn again, or the Beaver bomb. Are you talking about burning her house down? She'll just get insurance money and probably make out like a bandit."

"I don't know what I'm going to do. First, we need to get more dirt on Joyce. Then, we'll come up with solid plans."

"What you got in mind?"

"Pick me up tomorrow morning. We're going to pawn Vinnie's 38. Then we're going to use that money to purchase all of Joyce's divorce records from the county clerk's office."

"Her divorce records?"

"I want names, social security numbers, settlement details, everything we can get. Then, we'll start finding these guys, one at a time."

"What for?"

"Funding."

"Say what?"

"I'm not making any money doing this."

"Oh yeah, I forgot." She laughed. "Let me get this straight. You're going to get Joyce's ex-husbands to foot the bill while you get your revenge?"

"I figure they're going to enjoy a little payback too."

"Oh boy. She sure made you mad this time."

"I'm beyond mad. I'm all the way to rage. I'm up to blind fury."

"Rhino mode," Lula agreed. "I don't blame you. Enough is enough. Joyce has it coming to her."

"You can't breathe a word of this to anyone. And remember, you and Connie can't talk about it at the bonds office. Vinnie has the office bugged, and he'll tell Joyce."

"You're right. But Connie's got to be in on it too. We're like The Three Mouseketeers."

Yeah, there was a fearful image. I rolled my eyes. "Sure, if she wants."

"Are you kidding? Connie's the queen of getting even. Remember the stink bombs?"

"Yeah." My nose would never be the same. "But we're not stink bombing Joyce. This has gone way beyond pranks."

"I'm with you."

"See you tomorrow," I said, and disconnected.


	3. The Advice

I was dreaming about Ranger. I must have moaned in my sleep, because I woke myself up. Cursing, I tried to go back to sleep, to go back to the dream. I breathed deep. Ranger smelled so good. It was his Bulgari Green shower gel. I moaned again.

There was a sound, like a staccato exhale of breath by someone trying not to laugh. My eyes flew open and I sat up, trying to focus on the shape of a man sitting in the armchair in the corner of by bedroom. The only light in the room was from my bathroom night-light.

"Babe," Ranger said, his voice calming.

"You scared me," I said, putting my hand to my chest, trying to bring my heart rate down. I could hear him smiling. He knew that wasn't all he'd done to me.

"You think you're She Devil enough to bring down Joyce Barnhardt?" he asked. He'd seen my movie and the sticky notes.

"Maybe," I said, forgetting my earlier bravado.

"Babe," Ranger said. This time his tone conveyed something between concern and disappointment.

"I didn't ask your opinion."

He raised an eyebrow at me.

"Did you expect me to be a naïve, helpless damsel in distress for the rest of my life?" I honestly wanted to know. What did Ranger expect was going to happen with me seeing the seedier side of life all the time?

"Maybe," he teased.

"Well, those days are over," I insisted, giving him my best Berg glare.

"It was fun while it lasted," Ranger said with a hint of sadness.

"Maybe for you."

"I guess I'll have to call my accountant and have him re-assign your line item on my budget." I knew Ranger had me listed as Entertainment and took a tax write-off every time I destroyed his cars, cost him labor, and for the medical bills incurred while providing me with assistance.

"You do that," I told him, my voice rising an octave. "I'm no longer providing entertainment for you or your men, or Morelli, and certainly not for Joyce."

"I see."

"I'm not kidding," I said, scooting to the end of the bed, the covers still pulled up to my armpits.

"You don't have to prove anything to me, Babe. I know you're capable of just about anything." He was serious. This caught me off guard.

"You would never put up with the crap Joyce has been dishing out to me all these years," I said defensively.

"You're right."

"I'm not taking it anymore. There isn't going to be a next time."

"Understood." He wasn't smiling.

"But, you're not proud of me." I gathered as much from his tone. "Are you disappointed?"

"I'm surprised," he admitted.

"Wouldn't you have dropped Joyce in a third world country if she shot at you? If she stole your clients? If she tried to frame you for murder?"

"Babe," he said, conveying empathy this time. He apparently hadn't realized the extent of the Joyce issue until now.

"You're the one always telling me I should discourage people from shooting at me. I need a reputation on the street so people won't mess with me."

"I did say that," he admitted.

"I'm going to get one. I'm going to tear Joyce down, and I'm going to put her away. I'll do it legally, but the Berg rules of civility will no longer apply. And if she shoots at me, I'm going to shoot her. That's what you or Joe would do. Even Connie or Lula would shoot back at her." I looked Ranger right in the eye. "I can shoot her, you know. And I can hit what I'm shooting at."

"No doubt." Ranger had taught me to shoot, and he'd seen my handiwork before.

"You never expected me to change, did you?"

"Not really," he admitted. "I worried about your safety, and I wanted you to be more careful. But I didn't mean to turn you to the dark side."

"What did you like about me? That I was a wimp? That I was a push-over? That I was so unbelievably gullible?"

"I liked that you needed me," he admitted. "Maybe you don't need me anymore. Is that what you're trying to tell me? Are you through with Henry Higgins?"

Ranger had once compared us to Henry Higgins and Eliza Doolittle from the musical My Fair Lady. I couldn't believe he had even seen that movie, let alone made a reference. It was probably his mother's favorite, or his sisters had watched it over and over. That's all I could imagine.

"I don't know," I admitted. "But I want to take care of this on my own. This is between me and Joyce."

We sat there in silence for a few minutes. I could feel his eyes searching my face, trying to read my mind. I decided not to say anything this time. I just let the silence stretch on and on, much longer than I was usually comfortable with. Ranger seemed to find meaning in that too.

"I knew this was coming, sooner or later," he admitted. "We've been through all the phases."

"What do you mean?"

Ranger leaned back in the arm chair, his fingers steepled in front of him.

"When we first met, I came across as street tough. I was all swagger and ghetto talk. It was easy to impress and intimidate you. You were so green. Then as you got to know me a little more, I didn't scare you that much. You knew I had a soft spot for you. Next thing I knew, you were borrowing my vehicles, and then I was in your bed." I got a rush at the memory of that one night. Ranger did too. His voice was husky as he continued.

"You put the brakes on the bedroom activities, but I guess I didn't scare you too much, because next thing I know you're camped out in my apartment. Then you were impressed with my money and business success and with Rangeman. My resources became your resources. When you needed money, you worked for me.

"I was tracking you, trying to keep you safe. I was on the scene every time something blew up, every time you needed me to rescue you. You started calling me Batman. I thought that's what you needed me to be. So I started acting the role, trying to be your super hero. I was surprised you were still resisting me.

"Then the fantasy started coming apart. You helped me guard a music celebrity when Brenda was on tour, and saw me being groped and harassed by an older woman. I'll never forget the look on your face when I was covered in feathers from her outfit. Then I had to ask you for help to solve my little security problem." Ranger had been more than a little embarrassed when I discovered that some teenagers had managed to beat his system and were stealing from his clients. They almost ruined him.

"So, I'm no longer super-human in your eyes. I'm a flawed human being. You've seen me down. You've seen me outsmarted. You've seen me bleed. You've come to view all of Rangeman as peers. And you've been right there in the game with us, chasing bad guys, murderers, crazies. You've been shot and cut and burned. You've had to shoot people in self defense. You've seen bloody corpses, bodies burned to a crisp by a flame thrower, all kinds of things you never should have seen." He ran his hand over his face at that.

Then, finally, you chose to come to my bed. And I couldn't get enough of you. I have to admit, at first, I thought you were through with Morelli. I thought you had made up your mind, that you would stay with me. Then, you called me from Hawaii." He took a deep breath, as if gathering his courage before plowing ahead. "When I put that ring on your finger," he paused, his eyes boring into mine. "I should have married you."

My eyes were wide. "What?"

"Would you have said yes?"

"I, uh, I don't, uh, you didn't, we, I ." My mind wasn't capable of forming words. So he continued without waiting for me to recover.

"The moment came and went. I hadn't expected Morelli to show up in Hawaii." He actually growled "Morelli" under his breath. "If you hadn't stun gunned me, I think I would have killed him." He was serious.

I just focused on keeping my mouth closed and my eyes on Ranger. I couldn't believe what I was hearing.

"I was always afraid my past would catch up to me, and when it did, I was freaking out inside. I tried so hard not to over-react that I did a lousy job protecting you. I tried to include you, to keep you near me." He shook his head in disbelief. "One of my own unit," he said through clenched teeth, looking up at the ceiling. He was scary, his expression was so fierce, I was glad he wasn't directing his gaze at me. "I knew what Orin or any one of those guys was capable of. I should have gone with my gut and locked you up in a safe house."

I felt my mouth fly open to protest, but he shot me a look that made me close my mouth.

"If there is ever a next time, you can expect to wake up chained to a floor bolt with three armed guards in that safe house in the backwoods of Maine. I can promise you that right now."

I swallowed hard. I knew he wasn't kidding.

"We made it through. But maybe we're right back where we started."

"What do you mean?"

"After what you learned about me and Orin and our unit, about some of the things I've done, are you afraid of me again?"

"No," I assured him.

"I wondered, because you're back to talking about committing to Morelli and you're telling me you won't be back in my bed."

"Is that all that matters to you? You want me in your bed? Is that what it all boils down to?"

"No."

"Then what are you saying?"

"Whether you choose to marry Morelli or not, maybe you don't need me anymore. Or, maybe I should say, you don't want to need me anymore."

"I'll always need you, Ranger," I assured him.

"But not this time," he finished my thought.

"I need to do this on my own," I told him. "I deserve respect, and I'm going to have to learn to demand it when people like Joyce try to take advantage of me. It's time for me to stand up for myself. I have to set boundaries. I have to draw a line, and when that line is crossed, I need to be able to deliver on the consequences. You and Joe have both modeled that for me, but it's something you can't do for me."

Ranger got up. He came to the side of my bed and patted my pillow, gesturing for me to slide back up the bed and lay down. He tucked me in. It seemed strangely anti-climactic, as if all the tension had suddenly left the room. I always said that Ranger regulated air pressure, but now I was sure of it.

"One more word of advice?" he offered.

"Sure," I whispered.

"Living well is the best revenge."

He smoothed my hair and kissed me tenderly on the forehead. His lips hovered over mine. He was tempted to kiss me, but decided against it. He stood slowly and walked away. I listened as he closed my front door behind him. I heard my dead bolt tumble. Moments later, his Porsche 911 Turbo purred as he pulled out of the parking lot and disappeared into the night.

I should have been angry with him for treating me like a little girl, but it just felt reassuring. I couldn't process even half of what Ranger had just told me. But I knew one thing. No matter what I did, Ranger would still love me. I breathed deep. Bulgari Green. I drifted off to sleep, exhausted from being so angry all day.


	4. The List

Lula and I were sitting in a booth at Cluck In A Bucket the following afternoon. Lula had been shopping and got her hair and nails done while I spent most of the day waiting for copies of Joyce's records to the expedited. It cost more than I thought, and, after buying us a late lunch, I was officially broke.

"This is unbelievable," Lula said. "I knew Joyce had a lot of ex-husbands, but I had no idea who they were."

"Me either," I said. I had a blank legal pad Lula had borrowed from the office, and we were trying to compile a list of the husbands in chronological order, along with any pertinent information we might be able to use against Joyce.

"What do we have so far?" Lula asked, polishing off her fries and preparing to get a re-fill on her Coke.

"First, there was the plumber."

"Hank Anders." Lula made a sucking sound with her empty straw. "Why does that name sound familiar?"

"Anders Plumbing tried to buy out Stankovic and Sons Plumbing and Heating."

My best friend from school, Mary Lou Molnar, had married Lenny Stankovic, captain of the football team. He was a co-owner of the family business.

"Oh yeah. You told me about that once, right? And Stankovic senior refused to sell, so Anders started some ugly rumors and tried to steal Stankovic's customers. Then there was some kind of defamation law suit, and Anders was put out of business, right?"

"Yep," I said, checking the dates. "Sound like anyone we know?"

"Hold on." Lula's eyes were bugging. "That's Joyce's MO. You tellin' me it was Joyce behind that mess?"

"I'm starting to wonder." I paged through the documents. "Looks like Joyce filed for divorce when Anders filed for bankruptcy and the business folded."

"Guess she was through with him."

"It must have been true love," I said sarcastically.

Lula got up for a re-fill and tossed the trays so we had more room to spread out on the table. "Who's next?"

"Husband number two was David Rogenbach, the attorney."

"An attorney? Like Dickie?"

"This was actually during the time I was married to Dickie." I did a little mental math. "They got married about a month after the Dick and I got married."

"You're serious?"

"Yes." I was floored. I had been far too involved with my own marital mess to consider what was going on with Joyce at that time.

"David Rogenbach used to advertise on bus benches. I remember he had this stupid look on his face in the add, so Jackie and I used to..."

"I get it!" I shot her a look. I could guess what Jackie and Lula used to do down on Stark Street when they were sharing a corner. Lula was a ho in a former life, and sometimes she forgot that Cluck In a Bucket was a family restaurant.

"Well, anyway. I haven't seen his advertisements around in years. I wonder what happened to him."

"Joyce happened to him."

"That would do it," Lula agreed. "Did she destroy him like she did Anders?"

"I don't know."

"We could look him up. I got one of them smart phones. I've got the internet, so I can keep up with my Tweets, Twitters, and Facebook," Lula said. "I've got to keep connected, you know, for when my big break happens. You can't be wasting time trying to set up a web page. You gotta be prepared."

Lula's plus sized body was stuffed into petite sized black sequined spandex pants and a banana yellow tube top. There was dark brown skin popping out everywhere. The term muffin top has a picture of Lula next to it in the Urban Dictionary. Lula can't sing and Lula can't dance, but she does capture your attention. Her hair was black streaked with purple and white today, and her eyes and nails were done to match. With four inch heels and lots of bright gold jewelry, Lula was a show stopper. If Lula's big break does finally happen, she'll be on the cover of the National Enquirer every week as a fashion faux pas staple, and the quotes will be rated R.

"OK, Google Rogenbach and see what you can find," I agreed.

"Let's see." Lula was tapping the keyboard with the tips of her manicured nails. "Looks like he moved to Spokane several years ago."

"What about while he was in Trenton. Any news articles?"

"Yeah, here's one. Rogenbach made partner."

"What firm?"

"McDoogle, Blaze, Smith, and Rogenbach."

"What?" I grabbed the phone from Lula to read it myself. "That was the firm that Dickie was doing some work for. He was sure he was going to get that partnership, and then, the Joyce thing happened. He blamed me, saying that it was the high-profile divorce that lost the partnership for him. That was actually when the divorce went from page ten to page two of the daily news."

"Let me get this straight. Your husband was up for a partnership. Joyce's husband is up for the same partnership. Joyce boinks your husband, making sure you find out about it. You divorce your husband, making a big enough stink that the law firm gives the partnership to Joyce's husband?"

"They were probably unaware that Rogenbach's bitch wife was the catalyst for Dickie's drama."

"They thought you were the bitch."

"I'm sure," I growled. That was certainly Dickie's opinion. Apparently my opinion as the unsuspecting wife wasn't important.

"So, she's married to a partner in a law firm. What happened to that marriage?"

"There was no pre-nup. Joyce got half in the divorce, and a modest alimony," I said.

"Her first lucrative divorce."

"I guess."

"Next?" Lula cleared the Google search, ready to start again.

"Wayne Brandt. He was an investment broker of some kind. He owned Brandt and Associates."

"Ring any bells?" Lula asked.

"Nope. Google it."

Lula's nails tapped for a few seconds. "No way."

"What?"

Lula handed me the phone. There was a news article titled, "EE Martin lays off 20 following a funding cut." I read the article. I wasn't able to follow all of the financial jargon, but I understood that Brandt and Associates publicly pulled out, caused a panic, and EE Martin stock fell sharply. That's how I lost my job, my Miata, most of my furniture, anything of value I owned, and ended up working for Vinnie.

"Does that say Joyce got you canned?"

"That's what it says."

"Your eye is twitching," Lula told me.

I put my finger to my eye. "I hate Joyce Barnhardt," I growled, grinding my teeth.

"She's sure got it out for you, and everyone around you, too." Lula fanned herself. "Is it getting hot in here?"

"I think it's just the roots of my hair burning," I growled.

I started flipping pages, looking for victim number four.

"Next was Grant Lawrence."

"Who's Grant Lawrence?" Lula asked, taking the phone back and punching the name into the search.

"No idea."

"Huh. Says here, he is the executive vice president of the East Coast Insurance Co."

I choked on a sip of Coke. "What?"

"ECI. Isn't that the hoity toity insurance company that canceled your full coverage policy after you started blowing up cars?"

"They black-balled me on full coverage in the market. That's why I have to buy piece of crap cars with no lien. All I can get is basic liability so I'm legal, but no real coverage."

"I thought Ranger was going to help you with that."

"He tried. No luck."

"Is that why he keeps lettin' you borrow Rangeman vehicles?"

"Yep." I blew out a sigh.

"Dang. That's pretty serious when Batman can't get it handled. He's got attorneys from hell on his payroll."

"Tell me about it."

"So, Joyce married this guy just to get your car insurance canceled?" Lula checked the search again. "That's just crazy."

"Joyce is crazy!" I threw up my hands. "Isn't anyone paying attention?"

"Who's next?"

"Contestant number five is Brad Lintz. He married Joyce after she started making Vinnie bark like a seal so she could steal my skips."

"What does Brad do?"

"Oh my God!"

"What?"

"At the time they were married, he was Internal Affairs at Trenton PD."

"Say what?"

I grabbed my phone and dialed Joe.

"Cupcake," Joe answered.

"Joe, did you ever have a run in with a guy in Internal Affairs?"

"Not lately."

"A few years ago?"

"There was some beef about my failure to cite Ranger for concealed carry."

My eyes were bugging out, and Lula's eyes were bugging out in response to mine.

"Who made the complaint? What did you say? Were you in trouble?"

"I don't know who made the complaint. Internal Affairs investigated. I said that if Ranger was carrying, I was unaware of it. I got a reprimand in my file. There were a few other petty complaints, but nothing serious. A few months later I transferred from patrol to vice. My new boss didn't tolerate any interference from IA that might compromise a case, and he refused to cooperate with these lesser requests for reprimand. It did hold up my promotion to detective, though. I got passed over twice. It was an irritation, that's all. Why?"

"Does the name Brad Lintz mean anything to you?"

"He worked in IA back then. Why?"

"Is he still in IA?"

"No, I think he moved back to New York to take care of his mom."

"Ok, thanks," I said, hanging up before Joe could give me the third degree.

"What did he say?"

I gave Lula the low down.

"She tried to get Joe canned?"

"It's a wonder she didn't get him arrested," I told her.

"Why would Joyce get Brad to file a complaint against Morelli for not busting Ranger?"

"Imagine what would have happened to my relationship with Joe if he were coerced into arresting Ranger for concealed carry," I said, raising my eyebrows.

"Oh. OH!" Lula caught on.

"I'll bet Brad went to live with his mamma where it was safe. Why did they divorce?"

"Not sure. We'll have to ask him."

"Next?"

"Boris Bronfman."

Lula tapped his name into the search. "Nothing. What else you got?"

"His employer is listed as the US Government, Washington, DC."

More tapping. "Nothing."

I filed through the paperwork, scanning. The words "US Treasury Department" caught my eye.

"Bunchy? Bunchy?" I squeaked.

"Say what? Joyce married Bunchy the Bookie?"

"I'm going to be sick," I told Lula, putting my head between my knees.

Bunchy had shadowed me once while he was working on a fraud case at First Trenton Bank. He pretended to be a bookie, but he turned out to be a Treasury Agent.

"What the heck good did that do her? He's all eyebrows, that guy." Lula did a full body shiver.

"I can't imagine, but I think I know who to ask." I dialed Ranger.

"Yo," he answered.

"Yo yourself."

"You change your mind?"

"No. I was just wondering, have you ever had any personal dealings with Bunchy?"

"Bunchy?"

"Boris Bronfman, from the Treasury Dept."

"Oh, that Bunchy."

"Yeah. Has he caused you any trouble?"

"If it hadn't been for those monstrous eyebrows, I never would have recognized him. He was nosing around in a suit and tie, looking like a Fed a while back."

"What did he want?"

"Apparently, there was some confusion regarding the source of our Rangeman vehicles."

"He thought you were laundering money?"

"Something like that."

"Is it all straightened out?"

"Sure."

"No problems?"

"Nope."

"Do you know where I can find Bunchy?"

"Potomac Mills Mall. I got him a job as a security guard."

"Are you serious?"

"I considered giving him a job at Rangeman, but he didn't want to return to Trenton after his divorce."

"Do you know who he was married to?"

"Babe," Ranger said. That was a stupid question. Ranger knew everything.

"OK, thanks!" I said, disconnecting before Ranger could give me more unsolicited advice.

I filled Lula in.

"I had no idea this was how Joyce spent her free time."

"Me either."

"Next."

"Randy Greenberg. Employer is listed as The New England Patriots."

"Get out!" Lula squealed, slapping the table. "Joyce was married to quarterback Randy Greenberg? A professional football player? How did we not know that? You think she would have told everyone on the planet."

"Looks like there was a pre-nup agreement that included keeping the marriage a secret so that Randy's sex appeal, and thus his royalties, wouldn't be compromised."

"Oh, well, I guess he would be a little less hot if he were married," Lula agreed. "Why did they get divorced?"

"Football injury ended his career. He got compensation. She got half."

"Sounds about right. Is that when she bought that big house she's in now?"

"Yep."

"So, when did this happen?"

"Several months ago."

"After the bonds office burned down?"

I did some mental math and looked up at Lula. "Oh my God. That was about the same time I was being stalked by Dave Brewer"

Lula laughed. "Joyce thought she had to find herself a better football star than yours. Guess she didn't know the new Dave very well."

Dave Brewer was the former high school football star. He didn't play football professionally. He grew up to be a con artist and serial killer, but he really wanted to enroll in culinary school. My mother had fixed me up with him. When he tried to kidnap me, one of my other stalkers shot him before being run over by stalker number three in the parking lot at my apartment. It was a banner day, but it ended okay. Dave had bought me airline vouchers, which I used to go to Hawaii. Then again, my trip to Hawaii didn't turn out so good. Why would anyone be jealous of my life? It was a three ring circus of fear and frustration, not to mention, I was always broke. I shook my head to clear it.

"If she was competing with Dave, she should have married a chef or a stalker. I couldn't get him out of my kitchen."

"Now what?" Lula asked.

"Now we get Connie to help us find addresses and phone numbers, and we start putting the pieces together. Somewhere along the line, Joyce had to have spilled her guts to one of these bozos."

"Joyce might have engaged in the occasional weekend bender," Lula enthused. "If this is all she does, try to mess with you, surely she went shooting her big mouth off about why."

"One would think," I agreed.

I packed the mess of papers back into my bag and headed for the door. I couldn't imagine what I had ever done to make Joyce Barnhardt hate me this much. But I was going to find out.

(Please review. Let me know you're out there!)


	5. The Business Plan

Lula and I had filled Connie in by phone that evening when she was at home so she would be free to exclaim every time we dropped a bomb on her.

Connie was Vinnie's office manager. She was as Italian as a girl can get, looking like Betty Boop with a hint of mustache. Not that men ever looked at her lip. Their eyes were inevitably stuck on her abundant cleavage. Connie was deceptively bright, and she had access to skip tracing programs at the bonds office that would help me on my mission.

Lula took the list of ex-husbands to Connie the next day. Without a word, Connie penciled in the addresses and phone numbers, current employers, nearest relatives, and anything else interesting. Then Connie closed up for an hour so she and Lula could meet me for lunch at Pino's. Connie's treat.

"Stephanie Plum!" Connie said, trying to look scolding, but not quite making it. "I can't believe you're really doing this!" She was delighted to be included in the dastardly deed.

"I haven't done anything just yet," I reminded her, taking the list she handed me. I looked it over for a few seconds, then shoved it in my bag.

"Let's take the booth in the corner," Lula said. "Make way!" she said to a couple kids who were scooting around on the floor, getting their clothes sticky.

I scooted past them, trying not to get dirty. I was sick of running home after lunch for a shower every other day. I didn't care if I had to give a five year old the Death Glare. I wasn't going back to my mother's to do laundry until the weekend. And I wasn't going to drop marinara on my chest today either. I was going to pay attention. I was going to be careful. I was going to act like I knew what I was doing.

"So, tell me," Connie squealed with excitement. "What are you going to do first?"

"First, I'm going to audition for a job."

"Say what?" Lula gasped. Lula and Connie both stopped smiling and stared open mouthed at me. "You chicken out or something?"

"You got an interview we don't know about?" Connie asked.

"No. I'm going to start my own business." If Ranger can do it, so can I.

"What kind of business?" Connie asked.

"It came to me about three o'clock this morning. There should be some kind of service family and friends could use to prevent men from falling victim to home-wrecking, gold-digging monsters like Joyce Barnhardt."

"There is," Lula said. "But I'm retired."

"Not that!" I rolled my eyes.

"You're gonna be a PI?" Connie asked, still confused.

"Not exactly."

"I saw a movie once where a gal got paid by the girlfriend to try to get her fiancée to cheat. That way, she could find out if he was going to be faithful before they tied the knot," Connie said.

"How's that gonna work? The family pays Stephanie to be more alluring than Joyce? Then what? Stephanie marries him instead? That doesn't make sense as a long term business plan," Lula pointed out.

"Tonight, I'm gonna approach husband number one, Hank Anders. I'm gonna get him to have a few drinks with me. Then, I'm gonna pump him for information," I explained.

"How is that an interview? You're gonna be interviewing him, not the other way around. How does that get you paid?" Connie asked, looking at me like I was a dim bulb.

"Besides, won't he recognize you? I mean, if Joyce was obsessed with you, he certainly knows about you. He knows what you look like. Hell, you've been on the front page of the paper more times than the mayor."

"This is true," Connie agreed.

"I've learned a few things from doing distractions for Ranger. And I've learned a few things from Sally Sweet."

"Ah! You're gonna have Sally doll you up so your own mother wouldn't recognize you," Lula laughed. "I love it. That's a great plan."

"A great plan is one that gets you paid. Where's the money come into it?" Connie wanted to know.

"I'll approach Anders again the next day, as myself. When he realizes he spent the evening spilling his guts to Stephanie Plum, and that I'm out for revenge against Joyce, he'll listen to my sales pitch. I'll have proven to him that I have what it takes to pull off a scheme the likes of which Joyce Barnhardt has never seen."

"Oh, that's just wicked!" Connie said, grinning ear to ear with a sly narrowing of her eyes.

"Girl! That's what I'm talking about," Lula agreed.

"What's the pitch?" Connie asked, on the edge of her seat.

"Yeah, what are you gonna do to Joyce?"

"I have no idea," I admitted. They both looked at me like I was crazy.

"You're gonna prove to Anders you've got the stuff, but you don't know what you're gonna do? So, what's he supposed to pay you to do, exactly?"

"Anders is mid-forties, never re-married, no kids. He's managing a convenience store. That's practically a 24/7 job with no real thrills. He's got no life, and it's not likely he's going to get one anytime soon. So, we're gonna talk about it while we're having those drinks. And we'll see what I can find to offer him. Since Joyce re-married, he no longer has to pay her alimony. He's clear of Joyce unless she's still digging her claws into him just for spite."

"You think he's gonna pay to you get Joyce off his back once and for all?"

"I think he's hiding out in that convenience store. I think he's being held a virtual prisoner. How can he date? Joyce will just pop in and tell lies about him, scare off any chance of happiness for him. Don't you think?"

"That sounds exactly like Joyce," Connie agreed.

"Yeah," Lula nodded.

"Well, it's gonna stop. If all of the men pitch in as needed, we can take her down, together."

"Like a pack of hungry wolves," Lula said ominously. "She'll never see it coming."

"Let's hope not," Connie cautioned. "Joyce has quite a few feelers out there. We need to keep this as quite as possible. Need to know basis only."

"Yeah," I agreed.

"So, what time?" Lula asked.

"I'm doing this alone," I told her. This got me the sad puppy dog eyes.

"What do you mean, alone? We're gonna be there too, right? We're your backup."

"I don't need backup to talk to a guy in a bar," I said.

"Humph. Since when?" Lula huffed.

"Since now. He's not an FTA. He's a client."

"I gotta give it to you," Connie smiled. "I think you've got a chance of pulling this off."

"Yeah?"

"Absolutely. I've never seen you this determined about anything. Joyce should be shaking in her shoes right now."

"So, what about when this thing with Joyce is over? Then what are you gonna do?"

"Let's say a guy is dating or engaged to a gold-digging tramp. The family or friends know she's bad news, but the vixen is stroking her victim's cojones and making him happy, so he's not listening. For a fee plus expenses, I do some digging on the gold-digger. I find out where she goes and what she does when he's not around. I check out the family history. I try to find out if there's a drug or gambling addiction, if she's still married to someone else, all those kinds of things."

"You clean the skeletons right out of her closet," Lula said with a smile.

"Yeah. Then I'll make sure he gets a chance to meet the men she's left in her wake. If he doesn't snap out of it after seeing his fate spelled out for him, I can always resort to trying to put her away or relocate her. I need to arrange what appear to be chance meetings. The trick will be making sure neither the tramp nor her victim are aware of me. It needs to seem like breaking up was his idea. And if she makes waves for him, an unfortunate set of circumstances may happen to remove her from his life. I need to conceal my true identity. I don't need an entire herd of Joyce Barnhardt's coming after me."

"You need an alter ego," Lula gushed. "That's so cool!"

"I think I just need to be in disguise when I'm working," I said. "And I need to practice my quick-change, so I can seem to disappear when I need to. I mean, let's face it. If I can avoid a fight and appear to be elusive, I would get a lot more business than if I just go around starting fights and getting charged with assault."

"Amen to that," Connie said.

"Yeah, it's hard to work with a bloody nose and a black eye," Lula agreed. "It could be two weeks before you'd look credible again."

"Well, I like it. Joyce is the dry run. If you can pull it off, I think you've got yourself one hell of a business plan." Connie said. "When you get a steady income going, and you decide to expand, let me know. I'll do the books for you."

"Yeah, and I'll be your assistant," Lula offered. "I'll finesse the hell out of those fiancées."

Oh boy.


	6. The Plumber

It was 10:30 pm when I swung through the door of the Qwikie Mart in Hamilton Township. Anders had left the Berg behind, but he hadn't made it very far. I was looking like date night in a playful blue blouse that brought out my eyes while it showed off my Wonder Bra enhanced cleavage. I opted for a black mid-thigh swishy skirt that showed off my long legs, and my standard FMPs. My dark brown hair was expertly tucked under a light brown wig with dirty blonde highlights. My eyes were boosted to maximum size and my lips were stained rather than glossed. I wanted to look like a catch, not like I had something that was catching.

I had my cell phone to my ear as I walked deliberately to the Tastykake display. I put on an irritated yet pouty face.

"It's me again. I hope you're okay. I guess something came up. So, let me know you're okay, then. It's about 10:30 and I'm heading home. I'll talk to you tomorrow."

I closed my phone, turning it off and dropping it in my bag. I picked out about ten Tastykakes, heavy on the Butterscotch Krimpets. I grabbed a bag of Cheese Doodles and some chips, then headed for the counter. I perused the candy bars, picking up one of each.

"Anything else?" Anders asked.

I tried to look embarrassed as I surveyed my haul. "Probably shouldn't," I said, my voice on the verge of breaking. I let my eyes tear up just a little. I put my hand over my mouth. "I'm sorry." I said, wiping my eyes carefully. "You don't need me getting emotional on you. Yes, this will do."

Anders reached behind him for a Kleenex and handed it to me. "You gonna be okay?"

"Yeah." I dabbed at my eyes and sniffed. "This just isn't how I planned to spend my evening," I said, letting my voice break again. "This just sucks," I said, trying to laugh through my tears. I let one fall down my cheek for good measure.

"I didn't mean to eaves drop, but I couldn't help overhearing," he said.

"I guess I got stood up," I said with a dejected shrug. I looked up, trying to hold back more tears.

"That's hard to believe," he said.

He wasn't being creepy or coming on to me. He was just being nice to a customer. I was having a hard time seeing this nice guy getting involved with Joyce. Anders was soft, as men often are at his age, but he wasn't fat. He had shaved that morning, but had a dark, salt and pepper stubble going on. His hair was very short, but not thinning too much. He was graying at the temples. His eyes were gray too, but his thick, dark lashes kept him from looking washed out. He was just an average guy.

"Believe it," I said, fishing my wallet out of my bag. "What's the damage," I asked, giving him my nervous laugh again.

"Hon, he's not worth doing this to yourself."

I looked down at the pile of sugar and carbs. He didn't know this was my usual diet. He probably thought I would make myself sick eating all this.

I nodded, resigned. "You're right." I took a deep breath. "How about one Tastykake, and I'll put the rest back?"

He smiled. "I'll take care of it."

"That's really nice of you." He rang up my Butterscotch Krimpet and I dug around in the bottom of my bag for loose change.

I dropped the Tastykake into my bag and gave him a shy smile as I turned and headed for the door. I paused before pushing through the door, looking at the neon sign flashing "Hamilton Bar and Grill" across the street. I turned back to Anders, feigning embarrassment.

"I don't suppose there's any chance you'd want to have a drink with me sometime?"

He looked pleasantly surprised.

"If you could give me twenty minutes, my replacement will be here. I'd love to buy you a drink."

"Really?" I asked, giving him a tentative little smile. "You're probably tired. I don't mean to put you out. I just..." I shrugged.

"It's still early," he smiled.

"OK."

I checked out the magazine rack while Anders finished his end-of shift chores. When the skinny, stringy haired, tattooed head-banger with the Quickie Mart ball cap on took over the register, Anders told him not to have my car towed. Then we headed across the street.

The Hamilton Bar and Grill was a dark, smoky sports bar. It was perfect. Intimate, but not romantic. Casual. A perfect place for a first date.

We were standing just inside the door, letting our eyes adjust to the dim interior, when I spotted Lula and Tank. I had to do a double take. Tank was Ranger's second in command at Rangeman. He was a big black man dressed all in black, as usual. His bulging biceps stretched the sleeves of his t-shirt. Lula was a large woman, but Tank made her look petite by comparison. His bald head was as freshly shaved as his beard, and his pearly white teeth almost glowed in the dark as he smiled at me. He was the Cheshire cat.

Lula was wearing a leopard print wrap around top with flared sleeves and skin-tight black pants with four inch heels. He had a wide zebra striped belt and matching earrings. She looked like Wild Kingdom.

If Lula was here, Connie was sure to be close by. I heard her Betty Boop laugh coming from the next booth. Connie was wearing what could only be described as a sexy, mock sailor's uniform. She wasn't alone in the booth. My breath caught as my eyes met Ranger's. Ranger was wearing his usual black cargos, black t-shirt, black boots. He didn't smile with his lips, but he was making my temperature rise with his eyes. He gave me an appraising look, then turned his attention back to Connie.

I tried to remember to breathe as I followed Anders past the bar. He chose a booth along the far wall that allowed each of us to see the sports channel, but far enough away that we didn't have to talk over the noise from the bar. I could see my friends, and they could see us, but they couldn't hear us talking. The waitress arrived as soon as we sat down. He ordered us both an Amaretto Sour and the waitress disappeared.

"Have you ever been here before?" he asked.

"No, but it seems pretty decent."

"Yeah. It's decent."

I had a bad case of butterflies. It was hard enough to pretend to be on a date with Anders without performing in front of Tank and Ranger.

"Good food?" I asked, scrambling for something to say.

"What you'd expect. Good burgers. Average fries. Boring buffalo wings."

The drinks arrived, and I sipped slowly through the little straw.

"I don't even know your name," I said, shyly, pushing all thoughts of Ranger out of my mind, trying to fill the space with images of Joyce, trying to focus on the task at hand.

"Hank Anders. I own the Quickie Mart," he said. He didn't want me to think he was some middle-aged loser working a menial job. He was trying to impress me a little.

"Really? That's a pretty good investment," I said, trying to sound impressed.

"Yeah. Once I get it paid off, I'll be able to afford a full time manager and I can retire."

"What do you plan to do? Travel? See the world?" I asked, keeping it light.

"Maybe a little travel. I haven't really thought about it that much. The store keeps me busy."

"Do you have any hobbies? Something you do when you can find the time?"

"I used to race dragsters down at the track," he said wistfully. "But that was a long time ago."

"Holy cow. That must have been exciting."

"Exciting, and expensive," he said.

"Maybe you could get a sponsor."

"Maybe." He looked like he was dreaming about it for a few seconds, then came back down to earth. "What about you? I don't know your name."

My name. Crap. I was so busy with the hair and makeup and getting us here, that I never stopped to think of a name. I glanced over at Ranger. He was watching me with those dark Latino eyes. I opened my mouth and said the first thing that popped into my mind.

"I'm sorry," I laughed. "I'm Jean Ellen Burrows."

"Jean Ellen," he said smiling. "It's nice to meet you."

"It's nice to meet you too." Phew!

Things were going well. We were smiling and chatting, the typical first date dance. I figured I'd keep this up until he had finished his second drink.

There was a small dance floor in one corner. Someone turned on some music and started the colored lights. A disco ball started spinning and little colored dots began dancing across our faces. Moments later, Tank and Lula were showing their stuff. We watched them, smiling at Lula singing out loud to the music. Everyone in the bar probably assumed she was three sheets to the wind. Tank was usually so quiet. I had never seen him dance. It was almost as bad a Lula's dancing. Connie was laughing out loud. Ranger was almost smiling. When I caught his eye, he flashed me all 200 watts. God, that man was gorgeous. I quickly turned my attention back to Anders before I forgot what I was doing there.

We were talking about television shows and music. The usual pop culture stuff. Anders had ordered us a sampler platter of Buffalo wings, which we shared. I was mostly drinking my water and nursing my drink along. Anders was on his third drink. It was time to make my move.

"Can I ask you a personal question?" I asked. Before he could answer, I balked. "Never mind. It's none of my business," I said, waiving the thought away.

"Ask," he said, curious.

"You're not married, are you?" I tried to convey that I had been taken advantage of by a married man before.

"No. I'm divorced. No kids. I've been single for a long time."

"And you're not gay," I teased.

"No," he smiled. "Not at all."

"Just checking," I said, just a little flirty.

"What about you?"

"Divorced. No kids. I've been single for a long time," I said, truthfully.

"We have something in common," he said.

"So it would seem." I put on a sad face, as if thinking about the divorce was painful.

"Do you ever see your ex?" I asked. "Are you still friends?"

"Hardly," he scoffed.

"Can I ask what happened?"

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you." He emptied his glass. Right on cue, the waitress swung by the table and replaced it. Anders looked grateful.

"I think I would," I assured him.

"What happened to your marriage?" he asked.

"Cheating husband," I said simply. "I'm unlucky in love."

"Me too," he said.

"Cheating wife?" I asked.

"I wish." He shook his head. "No. She married me under false pretenses. She had me completely bamboozled up till the end."

"What do you mean?"

"I met this gorgeous red-head. She called me to her house to fix a plumbing problem with her dish washer."

"Let me guess," I interrupted. "There was nothing wrong with the dish washer."

"Bingo. It was just like you see in the movies, but that kind of thing never happens in real life."

"You were a plumber?" I asked.

"Yeah. I was self-employed then, too. Anyway, I was young and figured, what the hell, right? I assumed it was a one-time thing, but she kept calling, and I kept stopping by. We drank a lot. It was kind of a blur," he said. I think he was blushing a little bit. "After a couple weeks, I was basically living at her place. My place was a dump. I was still trying to get the business off the ground. Joyce - that was her name - said she was going to help me out. We got married, and she took over the advertising and office work. She dispatched and I answered the calls. That woman had me running ragged all day. I was thinking we were making a success out of it. You could have knocked me over with a feather the day I got served papers by the Sheriff."

"Divorce papers?" I assumed.

"Summons to appear in court. I was being sued."

"Why?"

"Joyce was using my name and my company to try to put a competitor out of business. I didn't know anything about it. The name never even came up. Of course, no one believed me."

"Why would she do that?"

"I don't know. It seems ruining this other guy was her plan all along. That's why she called a plumber to her house that first day. I don't even know if I was the first sucker she tried this with. I'm the sucker that fell for it though. Hook, line and sinker. Cost me my business. I would say it cost me my marriage, but it wasn't a real marriage. I thought it was." He finished his fourth drink. The waitress came for the glass, and he indicated he didn't want another.

"I'm so sorry," I told him.

"Ah, well." He smiled at me, trying to lighten the somber mood.

"You never found out why Joyce did this to you? Or to the other guy?"

"Nope. I didn't really know her after all. It was like the entire relationship had been a lie. She said she was an orphan, but it turned out she had family here in town."

"I wonder what made her tick," I mused.

"No clue," he said with a shrug. "Don't care anymore."

"Did you ever fall in love again? There must have been some other special ladies in your life," I pressed.

He hesitated. "I'm usually pretty shy," he admitted. "I tried using one of those dating services for a while. You know, where the computer matches you with a compatible partner?"

"Been there, done that," I lied.

"But every time I went to the restaurant or club to meet for the first date, there was this guy there ahead of me."

"The same guy?" I asked.

"Yeah. I figured there was some kind of screw up with the dating service, so I filed a complaint about it. They checked with the girls, I guess, and verified my story. I hoped they'd fix the problem, but hey just refunded my money, no questions asked, and dropped me. After that, I had a few first dates on my own, but rarely a second date, and that was about it. I get to talking about Joyce and my melancholy usually kills my chances."

"Dating's tough," I sympathized. "But tonight was just what I needed. Thanks for commiserating with me."

"Maybe we can do it again?" he asked.

"Sure," I smiled. "Would it be too forward if I said I'd see you tomorrow?"

"Not at all," he said, returning my smile.

Just then, a ruckus erupted from the dance floor. Tank had been spinning Lula around. She got dizzy and bumped into another couple, hard, knocking them into some bar stools. It was after midnight, and the man had been drinking, a lot. At least, I assumed he had been drinking a lot. Anyone sober would take three steps back when confronted by Tank. The man swung at Tank. Tank caught his fist in mid-air and twisted it, spinning the guy around and shoving him away.

I glanced over at Ranger. He wasn't fazed in the slightest. He looked on quietly.

"This is a wild place," I said to Anders.

"Not usually," he said, looking Lula and Tank over with a puzzled expression. "I've never seen those two before. I'd remember."

No kidding, I thought.

Lula was trying to return to her dance moves, but the woman was on her. It was a cat fight, with hair pulling and slapping and biting. The drunk guy actually took another swing at Tank, but his fist just bounced off Tank's rock hard abs. Moments later, all four were being ejected from the bar by police officers who were on patrol around the block.

Connie got up and rushed out after Lula. Ranger stayed, tossing a couple bills on the table, pretending to be finishing his drink. I knew he wasn't really drinking. Ranger likes to keep his wits about him. I wasn't so sure about Tank.

I yawned and indicated it was time to call it a night. Anders walked me to my car. He gave me an awkward kiss goodnight, and closed my door for me. I smiled, backed out carefully, and headed for my apartment.

I didn't see Ranger, but I knew he was out there in the dark, watching me, seeing me all the way home.


	7. The Date

I was surprised to find Ranger's Porsche 911 Turbo sitting in my lot when I parked. We both got out. Ranger beeped the alarm on the Porsche. I, on the other hand, had to slam my driver's door twice just to get it closed.

"Babe," he said, expressing his opinion that my latest car was a disaster. Ranger wouldn't be caught dead driving my two-toned Escort. It was two toned, blue and white, after the blue Escort had been side-swiped by a white Chevy.

I blew a strand of light blonde hair out of my face. "What were you and Tank doing at the bar?"

"We didn't want to miss seeing you in action." He was eyeing my hair. "Good disguise."

"You like it?" I turned slowly, modeling for him.

"I said it was good. I didn't say I liked it," Ranger said, reaching for the hair. He tugged gently, pulling the wig away along with the hair net. My own shoulder length curls fell around my face. "Better," he said appreciatively.

He was so close to me, and we were all alone in the dark parking lot. I expected a bone melting kiss. My spine was already tingling in anticipation. But he placed the hair piece in my hands, tucked a stray curl behind my ear, slung his arm around my shoulders, and walked me to the door.

"I was surprised to see Tank and Lula together. I thought they were seeing other people," I said.

"I think Tank missed Lula," Ranger said.

"Did they call after they left? Is Lula okay?" Poor Tank. I knew wherever Lula was right now, she was still fuming over her ruined manicure, to say nothing of scratches and bruises.

"Tank called. They all rode together. Tank was the designated driver."

"And?"

"Lula's fine. But she's in a mood."

"I'll bet." I wondered out loud, "They were having such a good time together. Do you think they're going over to Tank's house?"

Ranger had a strange look on his face. "No."

"So, he doesn't want to get back together with Lula?"

"No, they're not going to Tank's house. He's not renting it anymore."

"Tank was renting that house?" It was a yellow Cape Cod with a tiny front yard and a white railed porch. It looked like someone's grandma lived there. I couldn't believe it when I saw it. We assumed Tank bought the house for his cat. Ranger wasn't about to let him have cats at Rangeman.

"Yeah," Ranger almost laughed.

"Why? I mean, why that house? It was awful!"

"I know. That's why he rented it."

"Huh?"

"He was trying to slow Lula down on the marriage thing."

Things had been going well for Lula and Tank when they first started going out. Tank had bought Lula a pearl handled Derringer for Valentine's day. And things were progressing nicely until Lula decided they should get married. She didn't bother to discuss it with Tank. She bought herself an engagement ring and put it on while Tank was sleeping at her apartment. When he woke up, he was engaged to be married. He thought maybe he had blocked it out, because he couldn't remember proposing. The next time I saw Tank, he fainted when I mentioned it. Ranger couldn't believe his eyes when he found Tank face down on the ground. He said he'd been in firefights with Tank. Apparently, nothing scared Tank, except the thought of marriage. Or maybe it was the thought of marrying Lula. Hard to tell which.

"Same with the cats?"

"Yeah," he said, amused.

Around that time, Tank showed me a picture of his cat when I was depressed. He said it always made him happy. I thought he'd flipped his lid.

"Wow. I guess I should have seen through that one."

"It was a convincing performance," Ranger agreed, still smirking.

"It worked, too." Lula had decided maybe she had been hasty. Lula was allergic to cats. Not to mention, Tank had taken to drinking himself into a stupor. She didn't want to be married to an alcoholic named Pierre with a sissy looking house full of cats. It wasn't long before the wedding was off and they were seeing other people.

We took the elevator. Again, I was hopeful for a kiss, but he just slid his hand from my shoulder to my waist, holding me next to him. When the door opened, he released me. We walked to the door of my apartment.

"Do you want to come in?" I asked.

"Do you want me to?"

I hesitated. I wasn't used to being the one issuing an invitation. But I didn't want him to go. So I used the magic word. "Please."

"Babe," he whispered. I think he was a little surprised.

I unlocked the door. Ranger waited for me to lock up, then followed me into the kitchen. I tossed Rex a few peanuts I had swiped from the bar. Ranger was relaxed, leaning against the counter, watching me.

"What did you find out from Anders?" he asked.

"Connie filled you in?"

Ranger nodded.

I told him everything I knew about Anders.

"And now, you're going to show up at the convenience store and rip his heart out, call it a favor, and ask him for money?" Ranger raised an eyebrow at me.

I was about to answer, when I realized what he was trying to tell me. "You think Anders is going to be disappointed, because he's interested in me?"

"Babe."

"But, we just met. We had a few drinks. We're barely know each other. It's not like it was a real date."

"Looked like a real date from where I was sitting."

"You and I have gone out for pizza and beer. And we were just friends. That wasn't a date."

"I wasn't interested in being friends, and neither is Anders," he clarified.

"Fine, but it wasn't a date."

"And just what does it take to qualify as a date?" Ranger asked.

"Romance. It requires romance. And there wasn't any romance. Just Buffalo Wings. Buffalo Wings are not romantic."

"Neither is pizza and beer, but sitting alone in the dark with you is always romantic. At least, it has potential."

"I hate to burst your bubble, but Shorty's is not a romantic getaway." It was a hole in the wall that passed for a truck stop. "A date is dinner and a show. Or dancing. Or some kind of activity, like going to the zoo or the aquarium or a day at Point Pleasant," I explained. "We just walked across the street for a drink. It wasn't a date."

"We all ate and had a drink, and you and Lula put on quite a show." Ranger still looked doubtful. "I think Anders would say it was a date."

I rolled my eyes at him. "He'll understand. Once I explain to him that I have my own history with Joyce..."

"He'll think you have even more in common. It'll be a bonding experience," Ranger mused.

I stopped short. "You think I'm doing it all wrong, don't you? You just can't trust me to take care of this by my self, my own way, can you?"

"It's not about trust. It's about knowing how to get what you need from other people."

I growled at him. "What do you suggest? A more direct approach? Maybe I should have held him at gun point and cracked him in the knee caps with a Maglite until he talked?" I threw up my hands in frustration.

Ranger smiled. "I'd pay to see that," he said.

"Well?"

"Don't go alone tomorrow."

"You want to go with me?"

"Not me. Take Connie."

This caught me by surprise.

"Why Connie?"

There was a smile in Ranger's eyes for a moment. Then his expression changed. I felt the air pressure rise. My heart started beating loudly in time with the music in my head. It was a Latin beat, no doubt about it. Smooth, he reached across for my left hand. He brought it slowly to his lips and placed a kiss on the back of my hand. Then, effortlessly, he spun me around, flaring my skirt. He tucked me into him, his arms around me, his breath against my ear as he whispered, "Trust me." Then spun me out, brought me back and pinned me against the fridge. His lips were barely brushing mine as he said, "Every moment with you is just one second away from romance, Babe."

I couldn't breathe. He was right. Anything could happen. I closed my eyes in anticipation. But he pulled back, slowly.

"Be good tomorrow," he said. And he was gone.

(Please review!)


	8. The Spark

The next morning, I dug out my senior high school year book. I found a candid photo of Joyce with her arm around Kevin's neck. They were sitting together in the lunch room. Kevin was a year younger, but he looked mature for his age. It was a color photo, and Joyce's red hair and long nails were already her trademark. This was before the lip and breast enhancements. Joyce wasn't a natural red-head, at least, no where near as red as she normally colored it. Kevin had medium brown hair that could possibly have some red tones to it. He had sun freckles from playing sports, and he was often black and blue. He claimed it was from sports. I had no doubt they were a result of his extra curricular activities. Whether the bruises appeared during the game or after the locker room hazing was unclear.

I filed that thought away as I got myself together. I was late getting up, of course, since I was having hot flashes until 2 am, thanks to Ranger leaving me in a state. I showered and dressed, then headed for the bonds office. Vinnie would be out having a nooner, so the coast should be clear.

I swung through the door and stopped short when I saw Lula. She was dressed for comfort in a pair of black sweat pants and a big black t-shirt. I raised my eyebrows at her.

"Are those Tank's clothes?" I asked.

Lula was stretched out on the couch, obviously relaxed beyond caring about fashion. This was a first. Her fake nails had been popped off. She was au-natural.

"She's been like that all morning," Connie told me.

"Have a good time last night?" I asked. I think I was a little jealous.

Lula was stretching and grinning. "My honey and I made up."

"I can see that," I laughed.

"He's the one," she said, her voice dreamy.

"Here we go again," Connie complained.

"What about the cats?" I asked.

"Gone," she smiled.

"She says Tank told her she was more important to him. He says he got rid of the cats so he could have Lula back," Connie said. She wasn't half believing it.

Lula sighed loudly. "He loves me." Lula was on cloud nine. Far be it from me to interfere.

"What about you? You going to put the whammy on Anders this afternoon?" Connie asked.

"Yeah. But, I was thinking. Maybe I went a little overboard last night."

"If you were trying to hook him and reel him in, you succeeded. Hell, you gutted and cleaned him too. He's ready for the frying pan."

I stared up at the ceiling. "I know," I groaned. "I didn't mean to."

"You underestimated your skills. You overplayed it. You'll do better next time," Connie assured me.

"Great. What am I going to do about this time?"

"You want me to go with you?" Connie asked.

"Would you?"

"Sure. What time?"

"How about now? I'd kind of like to get this over with."

"Now?" Connie looked a little flustered. "Uh. Well, I've got some things I need to do first," she said.

"It won't take long," I promised, waiving my arm towards the door, gesturing for her to get moving.

Connie grabbed her coffee cup for one last blast of caffeine, but she missed her mouth and spilled it on her chest.

"Oh, damn!" Connie swore. "Crap!" She ran to the bathroom to try to mop up the mess.

I rolled my eyes.

"I don't have a change of clothes here," she called out. She came back to her desk and grabbed her bag out of the bottom drawer. "I'll have to change. I'll meet you back here in an hour. Vinnie won't be back until tomorrow. He's got a thing," she said, making a face. I didn't want to know.

"Fine. Meet you in an hour," I said.

We both looked at Lula.

"You staying here?" she asked.

"Sure. I'll hold down the fort."

"Great," Connie said, unconvinced. "I'm locking you in, in case you fall asleep. I don't want to come back and find the safe empty."

"Fine," Lula purred.

"Tank better know what he's doing," she said to me as we hit the sidewalk.

An hour and thirty minutes later, I pulled up next to Connie at the Qwickie Mart.

Anders had spotted my car, and was straightening his shirt and the counter as we got out. Connie and I swung through the door together, and he looked confused. He looked at my car with the distinctive white streak and dented door, and then he looked at me.

"Jeanne Ellen?" he asked.

Connie glanced over at me, but she didn't correct the name.

"Hi again," I said with a friendly smile.

"I didn't even recognize you."

My mousy brown hair was pulled back in a pony tail, and I only had mascara on. I was in jeans and a faded t-shirt with sneakers. No romance being offered here.

"I'm here to explain about that."

Connie cleared her throat.

"I'm sorry, this is my friend, Connie," I said, introducing her. "This is Hank Anders."

Hank finally tore his eyes off me and looked at Connie. His eyes naturally fell on the Betty Boop cleavage first. Connie was showing it off today with an ivory dress with a plunging neckline. A wide black belt accentuated her small waist, and the large navy blue dots made her appear super curvy. Reluctantly, he forced himself to focus on her big brown eyes. Her lashes were impossibly long, her lips were red, and the mustache was MIA. Connie was swaying a little, rocking her shoulders slowly back and forth. Connie had her flirt on.

"Hi," she said.

"Hi, yourself," he said appreciatively.

Connie smiled and batted her eyelashes at him. He swallowed hard.

"You want to sit?" he asked, offering us a seat in one of the booths along the windows, where people could eat in the store if they wanted.

I slid into the booth, Hank slid in opposite me, giving Connie her choice of seats. She considered sliding in next to Hank, but reluctantly slid in beside me when I shot her a look that said, "What are you doing?"

Hank was studying Connie, and Connie was studying Hank. I was suddenly invisible.

"I saw you at the bar last night," he said.

"Yes," I started. Then I realized he was talking to Connie.

"I saw you too," she said.

Okay. How did Ranger see this happening? He was sitting with Connie. Was she seriously paying attention to plain old Hank while she was sitting that close to Ranger? I shook my head to clear the error message. That didn't make any sense. Not to mention, Hank wasn't the least bit Italian. Connie was from a strictly Italian mob family.

"We really need to talk," I said, getting his attention.

"I'm sorry," he apologized. "How do you girls know each other?"

"I'm the one who needs to apologize," I told him. "I came here last night with the intention of proving to you that I'm the right person for the job."

"What job?"

"Taking down Joyce Barnhardt."

Now I had his attention.

"Taking her down? You mean," he looked around to be sure we were alone. "You mean taking her out?" he whispered.

"No. I'm not going to kill her. But, I'm going to make her wish she was dead." I looked him hard in the eye. "She is destroying my life, and I'm sick of it. She's going down."

Hank not only looked surprised, he looked like he believed me.

I took the photo of Joyce and Kevin out of my pocket and slid it across the table.

Was this the man who kept meeting your computer dates?" I asked, knowing the answer.

He studied the photo, looking at Joyce with her arm around her brother, in utter disbelief.

"I don't believe it," he said under his breath. "Why now, after all this time?" he demanded. "What the hell is going on around here? Who are you people?"

"I'm an office manager for a bail bonds office," Connie explained. "Jeanne Ellen, here, was our best bounty hunter up till a few days ago when Joyce Barnhardt screwed her way to the number one spot."

"You're a bounty hunter?" he asked, shocked.

"Former bounty hunter," I corrected. "I quit."

"Why are you playing games with me? If you wanted to know about Joyce, I would have been glad to tell you."

"I'm sorry. I had no idea you were a nice guy. I figured you were...someone terrible. I wanted to get in, get the information, and get out...disappear. That's why I wore the disguise. But, I think you could really help us, and we could help you."

"Help me?" He looked back and forth between Connie and me. "How?"

"I went to school with Joyce. I've known Joyce all my life," I explained. "This is Joyce and her brother, Kevin."

For the next five minutes, I listed the offenses. Hank listened intently.

"What do you want from me?" he asked.

"I want to know why she hated me enough to use you to attack my best friend's family. I have no idea what happened, or what Joyce thinks happened, or when. But it had to be pretty early on. I'm thinking early grade school."

"I'm sorry," he said, shaking his head. "Like I told you last night, I didn't really know her at all. I was either working or drinking or sleeping. I was racing with my friends on the weekends if I could get away. I know it sounds bad, but Joyce and I didn't talk much."

"I'm sorry," Connie interrupted. "I don't understand why you married her."

"I was young. I was stupid. She was hot. She told me I was the best thing since sliced bread. And she promised to make me successful. From where I was standing, it was a win-win-win situation."

"Fine, but why marry her?"

"She wanted my name, legally, so she could manage the business for me. That's how things are done in the Berg. You know, I guess I could have just given her a power of attorney, but I wasn't thinking. It wasn't hard for her to talk me into it."

"Scrotum and ego," I mumbled.

"What?"

"Joyce once told me all men are just scrotum and ego, and they are happy when they're being stroked."

"That's exactly what she did. She flattered me, she was constantly fussing over me, and I thought I was the luckiest man alive. I was really stupid to have believed that. But I did. She really built up my ego to unbelievable proportions. Especially out on the track with my racing buddies on the weekends. Man, she put on a show. My head was so big it's a wonder I could get my helmet on. She made me believe it too. I was winning races. Never occurred to me I could lose while Joyce was there.

"And when I was being sued, and she filed for divorce, no one would believe that she set me up. My friends turned on me. She told them lies about me. They all thought I was horrible for using her like that and a fool for letting her get away. She played the role of victim to a tee. She blamed me, saying I was the one who made her do Stankovic dirty. No charges were filed against her. That really burned me up at the time.

"But I've learned my lesson. I was negligent when it came to running my business. And I'm at fault because I didn't really care about her. I was a self-centered, arrogant ass. And I probably deserved what I got."

He looked so defeated and sad, Connie reached out and took his hand.

"She wanted to be able to legally act in your name?" I repeated.

"Yeah, that's what she said too, point blank." He tapped the picture. "So, what's the story here? You're telling me that even after we were divorced, Joyce's brother took it on himself to interfere with my dating life?"

"It's hard to say if Joyce put him up to it, or if Kevin was acting on his own," I said. "They're a lot alike. But I'll bet you a dozen Boston creams that your phone is tapped."

"Seriously?" he choked.

"As a heart attack," Connie assured him. "I suggest you get a new track phone for personal calls. You should try to locate the bugs, but just leave them for now. They may be useful to us later on."

"I don't even know what a bug looks like," he said, mildly alarmed.

"Oh, don't worry. I can help you with that," she smiled.

Hank looked back down at the photo. "Looks like they're close," he said. "How come I never knew about him?"

"You said she told you she was an orphan, but then you found out she had family in town. You didn't know about Kevin?"

"No. I never met any of her family. I saw her name in the paper when her grandparents died. There were a lot of other Barnhardts listed as surviving relatives. I didn't spend much time thinking about it. We were already divorced. I just remembered because it was one more lie she told me."

I blew out a sigh. "Hank, I'm going to keep digging. And eventually, I'm going to solve this puzzle. When I do, I'd like you to be part of the solution."

"You want me to help you strip Joyce of all her ill-gotten gain, and possibly see her do some jail time," he acknowledged. "I think about Joyce every single day. I think about what a failure I am. And I don't know why I haven't done something about it sooner." He squeezed Connie's hand gently. "I think I've been missing out."

"Let's see if we can make up for lost time," Connie said, scooting out of the seat. "I'll catch up to you later," she said to me.

"That's my cue," I said to Hank, sliding out of the booth.

"Good luck," he said to me, but his eyes were glued to Connie.

As I pulled out of the parking lot, my cell phone rang. It was Morelli.

"Hey," I answered.

"Where are you?" he asked.

"Hamilton Township."

"I just got done with a case, so I'm off early. Of course I haven't slept in two days. I'm on my way to Pino's and then I'm headed home. You want to join me?"

"Thanks, but I'm kind of busy right now." I wanted to iron out my plans for shaking some information out of Dickie.

"Bob misses you." This was code Morelli used when he wanted a booty call.

"I just saw Bob the other day," I reminded him.

"That was then. This is now."

Sheesh. "I'm working."

"I heard you quit." He sounded annoyingly happy.

"I'm self-employed now."

"Doing what?" Now he just sounded annoyed.

"It's sort of a private investigator thing."

"That sounds official. And so legal." He was being facetious. "You're not working for Ranger are you?" he demanded. I could hear his Italian temper in his voice.

"No, I'm working for myself."

"Is he helping you?" He was familiar with my tendency to omit the truth.

"No." Not yet anyway. Well, not in a tangible way.

"What are you driving?"

"My Escort. Why? What are you implying?"

"I'm implying that Ranger had better not be taking advantage of your new employment status."

"But it would be okay for you to take advantage of my new status?"

"Sure. That's different." He was being smug. Smug didn't work for me. And it definitely didn't put me in the mood.

"Gotta go," I told him. "Lot of work to do." And I disconnected.

And then, I dialed Ranger.


	9. The Dick

"Yo," Ranger answered his cell.

"Yo, yourself."

"How'd it go?"

"Like you figured," I said, smiling and shaking my head. "Connie and Hank hit it off."

"Babe." He said in a tone that sounded remarkably like "you're welcome".

"But he didn't know anything more."

"What's your next move?"

"I'm calling in a favor," I told him.

In my mind's eye, I could see the corner of his mouth twitch.

"You think I owe you a favor?"

"I know you do," I informed him. "And it's time for me to collect."

"What kind of favor?"

"I need you to plant a bug in Dickie's office for me."

He paused. I knew he was smiling now. Not only had Ranger talked me into planting a bug on Dickie for his own purposes, he had me do it again, planting a bug on his partner at the law firm, too. Did I complain when I ended up a suspect in the disappearance of both men? You bet. Not that Ranger was sympathetic at the time. But I figured he owed me just the same.

"You want me to plant a bug on your ex-husband?"

"Yep."

"And how do you propose I do that?"

"Hey, it's not like you gave me a script when you asked me to do it. That's your problem. Figure it out."

"Babe," he said, surprised I was being so...assertive.

"Once you have the bug planted, I intend to call him, feed him some mis-information, and see if he calls Joyce."

"Why?"

"Let's just call it a test."

"You know what you're doing isn't legal, right?"

"I'm not doing anything," I told him. "You are."

"And that makes it okay?"

"You do it all the time," I argued.

"Yes, but this time I'm being coerced."

"I've haven't even begun to coerce you," I told him, trying to sound threatening, but mostly sounding like my mother.

"Babe," he said, clearly amused.

"You'd better hurry. Dickie will be headed home by four."

"You want to come with me?"

"Not gonna happen," I told him, and disconnected.

I couldn't resist. I drove downtown to Dickie's law firm and parked across the street in the same spot Ranger had been sitting when I did the deed for him. I knew notice me, and he'd know exactly why I chose this spot. I guess I didn't mind amusing him when I wanted to. I just didn't like amusing him when I was trying to be taken seriously.

I waited about thirty minutes. Then I saw Ranger's 911 roll up. He parked and got out, smiling at me as he rounded the car. I flashed my lights at him. His smile widened to a full on grin before he disappered into the building.

My cell phone rang. It was Ranger.

"Yo," I answered.

"Yo," he said. "You sure you don't wanna come with me?"

"I'm good here," I told him.

I could hear the elevator ding and the doors opened.

"You scared?"

"Not gonna work," I assured him.

"Babe," he said. He was teasing.

I could hear the elevator doors close. We still had good signal.

"How would you like to ride along in my pocket?"

"Sure," I said.

"You gotta be quiet," he warned me.

"I'll put my phone on mute," I promised.

"You'd better," he said. "Hang on."

I didn't actually hear anything, and I didn't know which pocket he was hiding his phone in, but I got a rush of heat just the same.

I heard a lady stammer, "Welcome to, uh, Mr. Orr's office. Do you...have an appointment? Or, can I get you anything?"

I knew first hand that Ranger's very presence tended to cause women to lose the ability for rational thought.

"My name is Carlos Manoso." I imagined he handed her a business card. "I don't have an appointment. I just need a minute."

She was studying the card.

"Oh. You work for Rangeman LLC? May I ask in what capacity?"

"I'm the owner," he said, flatly.

"Oh!" she said, startled. "Let me check with Mr. Orr's secretary."

Dickie has a receptionist and a secretary? He's lucky to still be practicing law after his three law partners were found to be laundering money for arms dealers and drug smugglers throughout South America. How was he pulling this off?

There was silence for a minute or two. Then the receptionist returned.

"Mr. Orr will see you now," she gushed.

"Thank you." Ranger wasn't gracious. He sounded as if he had expected nothing less, and was a bit annoyed to have been left standing in the waiting room.

"Right this way," another female voice chimed. This must have been Dickie's secretary. She sounded young, very young, and no doubt gorgeous. I say this because I had noticed that gorgeous girls never stuttered around Ranger. They shared the same curse of flawless physical beauty, so were immune to the effects. I wasn't immune. I was often rendered speechless by Ranger.

I heard the door to Dickie's office close.

"Dickie," Ranger said by way of greeting, although it didn't sound all that friendly.

"What the hell do you want?"

I wasn't really aware that Ranger and Dickie knew each other. I mean, they knew of each other. A time or two early on in my relationship with Ranger, Dickie would show up at the police station while I was being questioned in connection to the heinous crime of the week, offering to represent me. Not for free, mind you. This ambulance chaser was so shameless, he was willing to shake me down right there in the police station in front of God and everyone.

Another connection existed because Ziggy Zabar had been Dickie's accountant during the money laundering deal. Ziggy got killed. Turned out his brother, Zip, worked for Rangeman. So, Ranger and I were on the case. Which is why I bugged Dickie and his partner in the first place. All making sense now?

Ranger and I were instrumental in saving Dickie from his murderous partners, but he didn't see it that way, of course. Dickie only recognized that I cost him the $40 million dollars he had stolen from his partners. Which is why I wasn't in a hurry to visit with Dickie any time soon.

"We need to talk," Ranger said, matter of factly.

"Yeah? About what?" Dickie snapped back, openly defiant.

"About your sudden need for protection."

"What need? I'm not in any danger," Dickie chuckled.

"That's what you think."

There was a loud squeaking as Ranger yanked Dickie right out of his fancy executive office chair. I knew his feet wouldn't even be touching the ground.

Dickie was whispering "Help," as if he would scream if he were able, but he simply wasn't able.

"Shut up," Ranger ordered.

There was more shuffling. It sounded like Dickie was being pressed against a filing cabinet.

"Open it," Ranger ordered.

There was the sound of a filing cabinet being opened. Dickie was whimpering.

"Okay, okay," Dickie whimpered. He seemed to know exactly what Ranger wanted him to do. He pulled something out of the files. "Here, just take it." He handed something to Ranger.

The drawer was slammed shut, and it sounded like Dickie was about to have a stroke. He was gasping for air.

"I told you not to make me come back up here," Ranger said. I nearly peed my pants, he was so scary. And I was just listening. I could only imaging how intimidating his eyes were when he was this angry. His calm was far more frightening than any violent outburst could ever be.

Dickie was crying. I was hearing pathetic little sobs escaping from him.

"What did I say?" Ranger demanded.

"I don't know," Dickie blubbered.

"What - did - I - say?" Ranger repeated, slowly, his words dripping with menace.

"Please don't," Dickie begged. "Please."

"This was your decision, not mine."

I heard a distinct cracking sound, and Dickie was screaming and screaming, but it was muffled somehow. This went on for a full minute. I nearly lost my lunch.

When Dickie's terror was reduced from attempted screaming back down to sobs, whatever was muffling him was removed. Dickie was gasping for air.

"Do you know what is going to happen if I have to come up here again?" Ranger asked.

"You won't," Dickie promised.

"I want you to be clear," Ranger said.

"Please," Dickie begged. "Don't."

There was a metallic sound, like a piece of metal being slid across a firm surface. Ranger always carried two guns and a knife. Ranger's knife was a military style Ka-bar. It was all black, like his uniform and the blade was at least six inches long. I couldn't hear anything at all, because Dickie had stopped breathing all together.

"Do we understand each other?" Ranger asked, speaking slowly and clearly.

"Yes," Dickie squeaked.

"I will expect to hear good news from my attorney by 0800 tomorrow morning."

"Y-y-yes. Y-y-y-ou will," Dickie stammered.

Ranger sheathed the knife and walked out of the office. He ignored the girls, taking the stairs down. Seconds later, he exited the building, slid into the Porsche, and took off.

"You enjoy that, Babe?" he asked, speaking into the phone again.

I pressed the mute button again so Ranger could hear me.

"Holy cow, what was that all about?" I gasped.

"Dickie's been trying to sue Tank and Rangeman for injuries he claims he sustained when Tank removed him from your apartment."

Back to the $40 million. Dickie stole the money, and put it in an account. To get the money out of the account, Dickie needed a key card. I had unknowingly taken the card from Dickie's office. Dickie broke into my apartment to search for the card. I no longer had it, but Dickie didn't know that. My apartment was under Rangeman surveillance, and Tank had responded to the break in. I was sure Tank was efficient in removing Dickie from the scene, but the irony is that as soon as they hit the pavement, Tank had been shot three times at close range. Dickie's most ruthless partner had sent his goons to find Dickie and the money. I witnessed the shooting and hit the shooter with my vehicle. But it was too late for Dickie. He was abducted. It never occurred to me to try to save Dickie. Instead, another Rangeman and I had rushed Tank to the hospital.

It didn't take much imagination to see how Dickie would try to take advantage of the situation. The incident had taken place well over a year ago. I couldn't believe this had been going on for so long and I was just finding out. Most of the time, security firms like Rangeman have insurance to cover such claims. It's just considered a cost of doing business. But what Dickie didn't consider was that Tank and Ranger share a bond forged in the heat of battle. When the bullets are flying, men become brothers for life. Anyone who messes with Tank is messing with Ranger. Even if Tank blew it off, Ranger wouldn't.

"What did you do to him?" I asked. "Is he okay?"

Ranger was laughing. "He's fine," he said, as if it were nothing at all.

"He was screaming."

"I told him that if he didn't drop the frivolous lawsuits and stop pointing his finger at Tank, I would break it off."

"You cut off his finger?" I gasped.

"Not yet. I have been quite generous with Dickie. First I warned him. This time, I broke his right index finger. Next time, the finger comes off."

I was not entirely surprised by how lightly Ranger took this situation. He didn't even sound angry. It was almost like he was just messing with Dickie for fun.

"I thought you'd enjoy the show," he said.

"I don't know what to think," I told him honestly. "And I can't believe you did all that on an open line. Can't this call be intercepted with a police scanner or something?"

"No. My phone has multi-layer encryption."

"Ok, but what about my phone?"

"It's secure, Babe."

"How?"

I was amusing him again. "Still a few things you could learn from Henry Higgins?"

I blew out a sigh. "Yes."

My phone received a text. It said, "SecureGSM software".

"You want to know how something works, you should look it up," he told me.

"You know studying isn't high on my list of skills," I said. I was proud to have graduated from college in the top 98% of my class. "Is Dickie really okay? He might be having a coronary as we speak."

"You want to give him at least an hour before you make that call," he said.

"You think? I'll be lucky if Dickie can pick up the phone at all with his finger throbbing. He'll probably take a Percoset and be incoherent."

"He's got two hands. Besides, he can't take a pain killer that strong. He has work to do tonight. He's got to file a request to drop his suit. Tomorrow may be better."

"You really expect him to stay at his office and work? He's going to be on his way to the emergency room to get his finger set and bandaged," I said.

"Not necessary. I left him a splint and gauze."

"That was nice of you," I said, sarcastically.

"Yeah, I'm a nice guy," he said.

"So, with all that excitement, did you manage to get a bug planted?"

"Babe," he said, expressing disappointment that I doubted him.

"Well, where is it?"

"There's a bug on the back of his chair and a bug in the finger splint. You'll be able to hear him everywhere he goes for the next day or two."

"What if he gets it wet?"

"Then you'll have to call him at the office."

Duh.

"We're even now," Ranger declared.

"Not hardly," I disagreed.

Ranger paused. It seemed I had surprised him again.

"Proud of you," he said, and disconnected.


	10. The Other Attorney

Since I was already downtown, I pulled into the Starbucks. When Ranger had me plant the bug on Dickie's partner, he sent me into this Starbucks. It was wall to wall humanity in the early morning. It had been easy to slip the bug into Smullen's pocket.

This was late afternoon, shortly before the post-workday rush. There were about twenty people in the store, some standing in line to order, some sitting at the tables or lounging on the couches and leather chairs.

I sat in my car, trying to psych myself up to call husband number two, David Rogenbach. I pulled out the information Connie had provided. She had printed out a sheet with photos of all the men as well, and there were a few summary background checks. It looked like Rogenbach had arrived in Spokane, Washington, about six months after the Joyce-Dickie thing blew up.

I looked at the photos of Rogenbach. There were three. Lula was right. He did have a stupid look on his face. I was assuming it was permanent. I couldn't see how he was made partner over Dickie. Who would want to go to court with a stupid looking lawyer? On the other hand, if he was brilliant, he would have the upper hand if the opposing attorney came to court light. Supposing Rogenbach was a chump, some of them probably took a night off, failed to be adequately prepared, and then lost spectacularly the next day. I was guessing Rogenbach always brought his A game.

I decided it would be prudent to call using an assumed name. I thought of one in advance this time, and also decided, secure phone or not, that I didn't want to leave a trail. I put the paperwork back in my bag, got out of the car, and headed into Starbucks.

I stood around reading the menu from a distance until I caught a break. A couple of girls in their early 20's came in, too busy talking about guys to notice anything going on around them. They were barely aware they had arrived at their destination. I slipped into line right in front of them, listening to their conversation, and hoping for them to be preparing to pay before ordering. I heard a zipper open to my right, and turned in that direction while I was digging in my bag for some more change. I had just enough to buy a small tea.

I paid, took my tea, and turned too quickly, bumping into the girl on the right. My bag tangled with her bag.

"Oh, gosh! I'm so sorry!" I said.

She stood still, shocked, while I was pulling back, trying to untangle myself without spilling my tea. I held the tea close to her face, so she couldn't see me lift her phone from her bag and slip it into mine. Her friend was taking the opportunity to order first, barely noticing anything.

Doing something like this used to freak me out. But I was getting better at it. I was calm, cool, and collected as I went to the far table, close to the door. I was sitting with my back to the wall, so I could see the girls. They sat down on one of the couches with large frappuccinos and pastries. Good. I had time to make the call.

I took out the girl's phone and dialed Rogenbach's office number. He was three hours behind on the West Coast, so I was hoping I was catching him just after lunch.

A woman answered. "Mr. Rogenbach's office."

I put on an extra thick accent, and went a little Fran Drescher with it. If he was recording all calls, which I knew Dickie did, I needed to disguise my voice too.

"Hi, my name is Anita. I'm a reporter for the Trenton Times. I'm doing a story that might be of interest to Mr. Rogenbach and wondered if I might have a few moments of his time."

"Let me check," The woman said. "Your full name, please?"

"Anita Gnap-Grumbles."

She was silent for a beat. "Can you spell your last name for me, please?"

"G-N-A-P, hyphen, G-R-U-M-B-L-E-S. From the Trenton Times. The first G is silent."

"Thank you."

A minute later, Rogenbach came on the line.

"This is David Rogenbach."

"Thank you for your time, Mr. Rogenbach. My name is Anita, and I'm calling from the Trenton Times. I am working on a story, and was hoping that you might be willing to allow me to quote you on your reaction."

"Trenton? What is this about?" He sounded a little concerned.

"I realize you haven't been a member of the Trenton community for some time now, but I believe you will have a unique perspective on this story. Were you aware that there is an on-going rivalry between your former wife, Joyce Barnhardt, and Trenton's "Bombshell Bounty Hunter", Stephanie Plum?"

"Stephanie Plum is a bounty hunter?" he asked, genuinely shocked.

"She's caused quite a sensation here in Trenton for the last few years," I said, with a snorty little laugh following. "That is, until this week. Your ex-wife just ousted Ms. Plum from the job. Joyce Barnhardt is now, undeniably, Trenton's hottest new female bounty hunter. What do you think about that?"

"Stephanie Plum is a bounty hunter?" he repeated. I wasn't sure he'd heard anything I had said after that. "She was such a nice girl. Are you sure?"

"Sure as rain."

"Can you give me a minute, please?"

"Sure."

He stayed on the line, but I could hear him typing away on his computer keyboard. He was checking out my story. He was silent for a few minutes reading. I knew what came up on a Google Search for "Stephanie Plum Trenton NJ". He was reading about the time I burned down Stiva's funeral home with Grandma. The stories written while I was suspected of murder mostly included quotes from Joyce about what a troubled child I had been and that she wasn't surprised. And I might have been caught on film at a few car bombings, apartment fires, and notable FTA takedowns.

Finally he'd read enough. "Surely this animosity between Stephanie and Joyce must be about more than a meaningless affair," he said. "I had no idea something this was going on."

"It's certainly newsworthy," I told him. "Would you happen to know how this rivalry started? What caused it? When?"

"I assume it was well before I met Joyce. I am aware that she was bitterly angry, but I don't know the reason."

"You were in a unique position, having been right in the thick of this rivalry when you and Joyce divorced. My understanding, and please forgive my tact, is that Joyce was having an affair with Stephanie's husband, Dickie Orr, who was also a local attorney. Was that the cause of your divorce from Ms. Barnhardt?"

He hesitated, then answered. "Yes, it was."

"How did you become aware of the indiscretion?"

"From Dickie. He was upset because I was awarded partnership at a local firm, and he was not. We had our own rivalry."

"He was angry with you, so he slept with your wife?"

"No, apparently he believed that I asked my wife to arrange for Stephanie to walk in on Joyce and Dickie in the throws of passion, with the intention of dissolving their marriage. The ensuing divorce resulted in his rejection by the firm."

"Did you ask Joyce to do that?"

"God, no. When I found out, I immediately moved out and filed for divorce. Which resulted in my being asked to leave the firm two weeks later."

"So you and Dickie both lost out, and both marriages were destroyed," I summarized.

"Yes. It was dreadful."

"What made you choose to move to Spokane?"

"I had just lost everything I had worked so hard for. One day, we were popping champagne corks and I thought I had it made. Then, days later, it was all gone. I hit rock bottom, fast. Joyce took everything from me. I thought my life was utterly ruined. But then, in the bottom of a bottle of booze, the words "gold-digger" suddenly took on new meaning. I packed a bag the next day, and hitch-hiked all the way to Spokane, and started over."

"What's special about Spokane?"

"Gold. I started panning for gold. There are places here where the gold rush is still going on. I eventually passed the bar in Washington and got back to business as an attorney. But once I could, I bought a few parcels of land, and I do some amateur prospecting."

"Did you find gold?"

"Yeah, some. It's paid for several spectacular vacations to the Bahamas and one trip to the French Riviera."

"Wow. So, it's safe to say that Joyce Barnhardt changed your life, for the better?"

"Everyday I wake up with a zest for life, knowing I narrowly escaped the jaws of hell. So, yes. Joyce changed my life. But it was never her intention to make my life better. That was my decision."

"I see. May I quote you on that?"

"I would prefer you didn't."

"Can you give me a quote?"

He considered for a moment. "Joyce Barnhardt is uniquely qualified to serve Trenton as a bond enforcement agent. She has proven herself quite capable. After all, she's been going after men for money for years. I'm sure Ms. Plum has served the community well, and will continue to do so, whether as a bond enforcement agent, or in some other capacity. I wish her all the best."

Now I was speechless. I passed if off as note-taking.

"You seem to have an affinity for Ms. Plum," I noted.

"She and I were victims in our little predicament. I knew Dickie personally and professionally, and I always felt sorry for the treatment she received. I hope she will be able to rise above this rivalry and find happiness, as I have."

"Thank you," I said, forgetting myself for a moment.

"If you don't mind, I have to prepare for an afternoon court appearance."

"Of course. Thank you again for your time."

"I look forward to reading your story. Good afternoon, Anita." And he disconnected.

I closed the line and sat, stunned for a few moments. Then I slid out of the booth and approached the giggling girls.

"I'm sorry," I said, interrupting. "Is this your phone? I just found it in my bag, and I assume it's yours."

The girl grabbed the phone from me, "I thought I left it at work! Thank God! I need to call my boyfriend," she said, snatching the phone from me and continuing her conversation without another glance in my direction.

Fine by me. I had what I came for. I knew what I was going to say to Dickie.


	11. The Bat Cave

I got back in my car and headed home. I'd had enough, and I needed a break before making a call to Dickie.

I walked through the door and noticed that the light was on in the kitchen. I didn't have my gun on me. It was in my cookie jar.

"Hello?" I called out, still standing in the open door, ready to make a run for it.

No answer.

I waited. I didn't hear anyone moving around.

I raced for my cookie jar, grabbed the gun, and fished around in the bottom of my purse for a bullet to put in the gun. Finally, with one in the chamber, I did a search of my apartment. I checked closets and under the bed and behind the shower curtain. No one was there. But I got a great aerobic workout. My heart was pounding and I had broke a sweat.

I came back to the kitchen. I was sure the lights were all off when I left. There was a note on my fridge.

"Recording for you. E sends her best. R."

The note was from Ranger. I breathed a sigh of relief. It wasn't a stalker. I hated being stalked. I wondered if Joyce ever had to deal with stalkers. I let that thought roll around in my mind for a second and decided if Joyce ever did have a stalker, I would have to feel sorry for him. It wouldn't end well...for him.

I opened the fridge with anticipation. The only female whose name started with an E that I knew was Ranger's housekeeper, Ella. And Ella's cooking was the best. She cooked for Ranger, the health nut. I didn't know what her secret was, but everything she made was delicious and nutritious.

There were several glass containers with lids, ready to be re-heated in the oven. It looked like a delicious stew, some snap peas in sauce, and a piece of the moistest chocolate cake. Okay, so the cake was without frosting, and I figured there was homemade applesauce in the mix, but I loved that Ranger actually brought me desert.

I followed the re-heating instructions taped to the stew, and twenty minutes later, I was sitting on the sofa, bare feet on the coffee table, feeling all the stress of the last few days melting away. I was in bliss.

I cleaned up when I was done, setting the empty bowls on the counter.

It was only 7:00, but I was tired, so I climbed into bed, laying spread eagle on my back in my thinking position. I stared at the ceiling with the light on, thinking about my conversation with Rogenbach.

He seemed like a nice guy too. But, like Hank Anders, he was a changed man. At the time he was married to Joyce, he too was ambitious, self-centered, and probably did not give much thought to Joyce as a person. It was as if Joyce were actively seeking out men who fit that dynamic. If so, Dickie was a logical choice. Dickie was ambitious, self-centered, and certainly didn't view Joyce, or any woman for that matter, as important, unless she was meeting his needs. I was certain that was his view on his secretary as well.

I considered calling Ranger to thank him for dinner, but decided he was probably on the prowl for bad guys, and I had already taken up his time earlier in the day. He always said I could call him any time. But, it felt desperate. And I wasn't desperate, was I?

I lasted five minutes. Then I gave in and dialed Ranger.

"Yo," he said.

"Yo, yourself."

"Babe." He was smiling. "Have a good conversation with Rogenbach?"

"How did you know I called Rogenbach?" I asked, sitting up in the bed.

"I have my ways."

"Explain," I demanded. Enough of his mysterious ways. I wanted to know how he was doing it.

"That phone I gave you is Rangeman property."

"So? I didn't call Rogenbach on your phone. I borrowed someone else's."

"I know. I'm impressed."

"Were you watching me?"

"Babe." This meant, no, he had been busy elsewhere.

"Was someone from Rangeman watching me?"

"Always."

"Who? I didn't see anyone."

"You weren't supposed to."

"If you're so good, why don't you tell me what Rogenbach said?" I challenged.

"I don't know what Rogenbach said," he admitted.

"But your man was close enough to hear me talking to him?"

"No."

"Then how do you know I called Rogenbach?"

"Rangeman is monitoring you," is all the answer I was going to get.

"Through the phone you gave me?" I asked. "You can really do that? Listen even when I am not using the phone?"

"Don't toss the phone," Ranger warned me. "If you do, I'll have to take more drastic measures." And I knew he would.

"Someone at Rangeman is listening to us right now?" I realized.

"Always," he repeated. "Don't worry about it."

"Who was following me today?"

"You tell me," he challenged.

I lay back down and tried to relax, closing my eyes and focusing on the people I had seen at Starbucks. I had been sitting in the car for some time before going in. This gave Ranger's man plenty of time to go inside ahead of me. Would he have been alone? Probably not. Ranger liked to send his men out in pairs. There was only one pair of men at Starbucks. They were sitting at the bar by the window, drinking coffee, not talking much. Bingo.

I described them for Ranger. Both men were in their mid-twenties, wearing street clothes, jeans and non-descript t-shirts, carrying hoodies, wearing fairly expensive sneakers. One was about 5'10", Hispanic, short hair, muscular but not overblown. Nice looking. The other was about 6', Caucasian. He had a full head of medium brown, curly hair, not quite reaching his collar and he needed a shave. He was unkempt. I could see him playing drums for a rock band. But that didn't fully describe him. I couldn't put my finger on it, but he seemed a little off, like he'd smoked one too many joints, or got hit a little too hard on the football field in high school. It was like maybe his eyes weren't quite tracking together the way they should. He was just a little creepy.

"Good. That's Javier and Zombie. You should be able to start picking them out. You need to be aware of your surroundings, Babe. I'll expect you not to try to lose them, though."

"How could I lose them? You're probably tracking me and my car."

"And I've lost you before," he said, with an uncharacteristic note of anxiousness.

This was true. Sometimes I went out on my own in someone else's car, in someone else's clothes, without my bag, and I usually ended up in big trouble. Life and death trouble.

"You don't want me to stop tracking you, Babe."

"I know." He was right. He was always keeping me safe, and sometimes I really needed the back up. "I promise not to go off the radar."

"Good girl." He wasn't being condescending. He was clearly relieved. "Can I tuck you in?"

"How do you know I'm in bed?" I asked.

"I can hear it in your voice. You're all relaxed, content with a full belly, and you're lying down."

"Fine, come in," I said, knowing he was at my front door. I disconnected and tossed the phone on top of the nightstand.

The lock tumbled on my front door. Seconds later, Ranger appeared in the doorway, leaning casually against the frame. I was in a t-shirt and underwear but I was already under the covers. I wasn't putting on much of a show.

Ranger had been all smiles earlier, but now, not so much.

"Tough day?" I asked.

"Yeah," he said. "Tank and I responded to an alarm at a penthouse belonging to a high-priority client. We prevented the theft. They were trying to break into a safe with a torch. We had them, but we had to let them go."

"What do you mean, you let them go?"

Ranger came in to the room, removing his gun belt. He tossed it into the chair and sat next to me on the bed, relaxing his back against the headboard, one foot still on the floor. He took my phone, punched in a code, and put it back on the nightstand. I assumed that meant we were alone now, our conversation no longer being monitored.

"I know the leader. He's crazy. Kind of like Orin. He aimed his gun at the tank that fueled the torch and would have blown it if we tried to take him. He'd do it, and he'd like nothing better than to take me with him. So, I had no choice. I had to let them go."

My heart was beating funny in my chest. I had almost lost Ranger, just in the last few hours. I couldn't believe it. I sat up, scooting up to lean against the headboard beside Ranger. He took my hand in his.

"I know you worry about me, but maybe I should be the one worrying about you," I said, deeply concerned. "Is this guy a problem for you? I mean, do you run into him a lot?"

"Often enough."

"Is he a threat to you?"

"He's one of many."

"And when I disappear, or someone's after me, I'm just one more thing distracting you from watching your own back," I realized.

Ranger smiled weakly. "You don't make it easy, but I don't mind watching over you, Babe."

"But it makes you crazy when you don't know where I am."

He leaned towards me, touching his forehead to mine. "I know first hand what can happen if you fall into the hands of the enemy. And I can't bear the thought of you being hurt or scared, alone, knowing I don't know where you are. If I wasn't monitoring you like I do, I might not even know you were gone."

I swallowed hard. That had happened, and it was the most awful feeling in the world. Here I had Ranger trying desperately to keep me under guard day and night, and I viewed it as an invasion of privacy and tried to shake him off. If he ever heard or saw or knew about something that would have embarrassed me, he never mentioned it. He invaded my privacy, but he didn't try to manipulate me with what he knew. I just hated that he could if he wanted to.

"I know you hate it," he whispered. "I don't have much privacy either. I can't afford to."

This was true. Ranger's apartment and office were bare of all personal effects. No keepsakes, no photographs, no books or movies on the shelf or even an MP3 player to give away his taste in music.

"I chose this life, so I accept these circumstances. Tank chose this life. But you and Lula didn't know what you were getting into. Not really," he said. "But you're here now, and there's no going back for you." He kissed me softly. "I'm sorry. I wish you had a choice, but I love you, and the world knows it. Whether you love me back or not, this situation is forever, Babe."

Years ago, when I first started to refer to Ranger as Batman, he was a mystery. The address on his driver's license was a vacant lot. No one knew where Ranger lived. When I asked him if I could see the Bat Cave sometime, he said, maybe someday. What he really meant was, no. I figured he was sleeping on a dirt floor somewhere. Later, he said the only way to keep me safe would be to lock me up in the Bat Cave for the rest of my life. I was tempted to let him since he assured me the Bat Cave had television, and I was scared at the time. But he warned me off, saying, "If you go into the Bat Cave, it's forever, Babe." Some time later, while Ranger was out of town, I found his 7th floor apartment at Rangeman. It was state of the art and immaculate. My image of Ranger had been completely redefined. Hidden away above the city lights was a place with warmly inviting, spacious rooms, and a fridge filled with Ella's fabulous cooking. I enjoyed peaceful rest between his super-soft sheets and fell in love with the sinfully sensuous shower. Lost in comfort, I forgot all about Ranger's dire warning. From the moment I stepped foot into the Bat Cave, I had become Ranger's woman, at least as far as Ranger's world was concerned. It was a matter of public record. Everyone in the building knew I came and went as I pleased. I was walking around town with the key to Ranger's apartment dangling from my key ring. I had become a target. And I had failed to understand that. Until now.

"Oh," I said, the connections finally being made in my brain.

"I've been trying to tell you," he said, pushing a strand of my curls behind my ear. "Now that you're not working for Vinnie, my continued surveillance is going to become more obvious to you and Morelli, since I hope I won't have as much reason. That is, assuming you're not chasing felons and threatening people who will try to kill you."

I nodded slowly, lost in thought. "Okay."

"Okay?" The corner of his mouth twitched. He raised my chin, getting me to look him in the eye. "Morelli's not going to like it."

"I know you have your reasons. I know you aren't doing it to hurt me. You would have done it by now."

He kissed me lightly on the temple. "I don't want to hurt you, Babe."

"I know. You want to keep me safe. Even when I've hurt you, or when you're unhappy with me. I've given you plenty of grief, plenty of reason."

Ranger didn't deny it. He just kissed the corner of my mouth gently. "It's forgotten."

"What did you mean when you said you knew what it felt like to be in trouble, all alone, with no hope of rescue?"

"I told you before. I was captured in Colombia once."

"I remember you saying that, but you were joking at the time." He made the off-handed remark that guarding country superstar Brenda had been more unpleasant than the time he was captured by Colombian rebels for three days. He might have been joking about Brenda, but I could see from the look in his eyes now that he hadn't been joking about being captured. "That's not funny."

"No, it wasn't funny."

"And that's all you said. You didn't tell me what happened."

"You don't want to know."

"Yes, I do," I insisted, taking his hand in both of mine and turning to face him.

"I was undercover in Columbia, off the grid. No one in the chain of command knew I was missing. Not that they would have come after me even if they knew. I had just checked in. I wasn't due to my next rendezvous for a week. I was having a drink with some of the other hired muscle. I never saw it coming. I was hit from behind, knocked unconscious. I woke up in a guerilla compound, on my own, outnumbered, no chance I'd make it out unarmed. They knew I was an American. Someone gave them intel on me. They tortured me for three days."

"What kind of torture?" I had seen Ranger's body. He had a few stab wounds and bullet holes, but nothing that stood out in my mind as marks of torture.

"Babe." He wasn't going to tell me.

"They didn't leave scars?" I pressed.

"Some things don't leave physical scars," he said.

"That doesn't answer my question."

"Bruising and broken bones heal. Deprivation of any basic need is torture that doesn't leave a mark. Air, water, food, the ability to relieve one's self, to sleep, to blink. Exposure to intense heat or cold. Intense light or prolonged dark. You can torture someone a dozen different ways with a toothbrush and a teaspoon of salt. And that's without getting too personal or nasty. Airways can be burned with chemicals. Skin can be irritated. Needles manipulated under the nails or skin, between joints or in sensitive places can be used alone or in combination with injection of ice water, salt water, acid or other chemicals to cause pain. Nails usually grow back. Breaking the most sensitive bones, or bones that move with every breath wears a person down. Being suspended in painful positions or having movement restricted. Dislocating joints. Confinement in small spaces. Being buried alive. Being covered with insects or left exposed to wild animals. Anything that causes intense fear or discomfort, whether mental or physical, including humiliation. Most of the time, these things are done in combination without allowing a break for recovery. Being forced to witness the graphic physical torture and death of someone else as punishment for non-compliance is usually very effective at that point."

"You were forced to watch," I whispered, suddenly realizing why he was so insane about protecting me.

He didn't answer, just picked up his story. "They needed me to be weak enough to talk but well enough to move, in case they had to break camp."

"And you didn't tell them anything." I knew Ranger never would.

"You talk and you're dead. They don't need you anymore."

"So, that makes it easy not to talk," I thought out loud.

"No. There was nothing easy about it. It's hard to resist the overwhelming urge to talk and die. Talking is the only way to end the torture. Death is the way out. Watching someone else die, just makes you envious to escape as well. You feel more alone than before. Left behind."

I swallowed, my stomach suddenly swirling at the thought of Ranger wishing for death in some dark, bloody place. I knew he had been through things, but I hadn't given it enough weight. I was surprised he was talking about it now.

"How did you get away?"

"Tank." As if that were a complete answer.

"How did Tank know?"

"We have a system. I never fully trust...upper management." He hesitated. "Tank always knows where I am and if I'm okay. We have a system. I wasn't due to check in with my field team for seven days, but I checked in with Tank every day. I had signaled him that things were dicey. When I stopped checking in, he knew I was in trouble."

"Then you knew help was on the way," I reasoned.

"No. Tank was stateside, and no longer in the military. He knew I was in Columbia but that's a big country with a lot of bad guys. He didn't have details. It was going to be too hard for him to find me, let alone organize a rescue."

"Couldn't he let your bosses know you were in trouble?"

"Not without getting both of us thrown in jail."

"So, Tank came to Columbia as a civilian and rescued you?"

"Yes." He squeezed my hand. "I never expected him to do that."

"Then why bother checking in?"

"To give Tank a heads up, so he could watch his back and protect my family. If someone came to him with a story about what happened to me, he'd have some truth. It could help him determine if he was dealing with friend or foe. He would be prepared, in case they did convince me to talk."

"How did Tank find you?"

"He knew what city I had been in. He busted heads until he found out where "the American" was being held. He brought his own team, paid for a few more men when he got there, and found a local guide who brought him intel and helped him plan the rescue."

"And your bosses never figured this out?"

"Tank didn't flash his ID. He claimed to represent another "family" with interests in the area. It played like two packs of dogs fighting over an American bone. It didn't get much notice."

"What about your injuries? Your bosses knew you were injured didn't they?"

"All they knew is that I made it to my next rendezvous with intel. That's all they cared about."

"And you and Tank came home?"

"No, he stayed in Columbia until the mission was done. Two more weeks. I had to rely heavily on Lester. Tank is too noticeable, so he had to lie low. But he didn't leave. Bobby was running things at Rangeman while we were gone."

"When did this happen?"

"Shortly after we bought the Haywood property."

"Did I already know you then?"

"Yeah. This was a few months before your first "redecorating" gig."

One time when I was short on cash, I asked Ranger to help me "diversify my portfolio". I had noticed that Ranger didn't just chase FTA's for a living. When no one was jumping bail, I didn't earn a paycheck. So Ranger said I could help him with a "redecorating project". I figured he meant painting and steam cleaning. I realized I was in trouble when he handed me a Kevlar vest. What he meant was "relocation" of some drug dealers from a slum apartment building in the middle of the night. It was the first time I met Tank, Bobby, and Ranger's cousin Lester. The four of them were the Rangeman core team.

"That explains a lot," I said. "I got the feeling you were trying to scare me off. Tank too. When he threw that man out a third story window..."

Ranger laughed softly. "That was great. I thought you were going to pass out."

"Did you tell him to do that?"

"No. But he knew I was trying to discourage you." He nuzzled my ear. "I'm glad it didn't work."

"I realize you and Tank are devoted to Rangeman, and to each other. I understand it, and I don't want to change it. I guess I'm just not sure where I fit in, exactly."

"I know," he said. "Tank and I have been talking. Lula is even less prepared for this life than you are. But Tank's made up his mind this time. I think he's going to marry Lula."

"Now he wants to get married? He fainted last time he thought about marriage. Why was he so freaked out before?"

"Mostly, she surprised him. Tank likes to feel like he's got things under control. When he doesn't, he can get a little unreasonable."

"Yeah, that's one way of putting it."

"For another thing, men like us tend to put brotherhood first, job second, and women third. That's not what I want for you, but that's how it's been for us. At least, up till now."

"Is that changing?" I asked, hopefully.

"Babe," he whispered, kissing me lightly again. "Honestly, I don't know if that can change. Without the time I devote to Tank and Rangeman, how would I protect you? Being open with you may be all I can offer right now."

"Tell me something?" I asked.

"Anything."

"What happened to the cats?"

Ranger smiled. "What's with you and the cats?" I was amusing him again.

"I just want to know."

"The three cats belong to my sister, Celia."

I knew Ranger had three older sisters and one younger brother. Celia had dated Marty Sanchez, one of Morelli's cop friends.

"Celia loaned Tank her cats so he could scare Lula off?" I looked at him doubtfully. That just didn't ring true for me.

Ranger shook his head slightly. "No. She was pregnant. She wasn't supposed to be around the cats until the baby was born."

"So she asked you to take them?" That was brave of her, I thought.

"No. She called Tank. He likes animals. I don't."

"Why don't you like animals?"

"They die."

I raised my eyebrows at him.

"House pets have a short life span. I prefer not to get attached."

"Because that would cause you pain," I realized.

"And because I'm not cleaning up after them."

"And it's not good for your image."

"That too."

"What about Tank's image? Why is it okay for Tank?"

"Who the hell is going to tell Tank what to do? If he wants to shovel kitty litter for my sister, I'm gonna let him." Ranger was playing with my fingers. "Celia has her cats back, safe and sound. Tank has Lula back. And everyone's happy."

"Are you? Happy, I mean?"

Ranger hesitated. "As much as I can be."

He got up, motioning for me to lie down. He pulled up the covers and tucked me in, just like he promised. He smoothed one of my curls. Then he picked up my phone, punched in a code, and put it back on the night stand.

"You can tell me about Rogenbach tomorrow. Come by around 9:30. I have a disposable phone you can use to call Dickie, so you don't have to lift one. We're recording, and the duty desk will flag anything related to Joyce for you." He turned to go. "I'll have Ella re-fill your dishes."

"Tell her thanks," I whispered.

He turned off the light.

"Sweet dreams, Babe."


	12. The Fork

I was showered and dressed by 8:30, which was pretty early for me. But Ranger hated to be kept waiting. I turned on the coffee maker and was digging around in the fridge, looking for something for Rex, when there was a knock on my door.

Before I got to the door to answer it, the door swung open. Bob rushed in, headed for the coffee table to check for leftovers. Then he turned and saw me. I braced for impact. Bob lunged. I hugged him and rubbed his ears.

"There's my good boy," I said to Bob.

"Here's your bad boy," Morelli said, tackling both of us.

"Hey!" I tried to break free. "Easy with the goods!"

Morelli laughed. "I brought you breakfast."

I looked back into the kitchen and saw a Tasty Pastry box on the counter. I was pretty sure it contained a dozen Boston Creams.

I followed Morelli into the kitchen. He helped himself to a mug. He dug around in the cabinet for cream and sugar, and poured us both a cup, doctoring them up.

I stood there having an out of body experience. Morelli was in a good mood. He had no idea that we were over, but I was having a moment of clarity. It was never going to work. Just because my job had changed, didn't mean I had. Nothing had changed. I wasn't working for Vinnie, but I absolutely intended to continue this type of work. It suited me. And there really wasn't any choice to be made. All this time, I assumed I was stuck in limbo between marrying Morelli and being strung along by Ranger. But this morning, I realized that Ranger and I weren't screwed up. He wasn't changing. I wasn't changing. The only thing that was screwed up was this idea that somehow I was going to end up marrying Morelli. But I wasn't. I loved him, but I wasn't going to marry him.

"Hello?" Joe was waiving a donut in my direction. "You awake?"

I was in a quiet, calm place. I was channeling Ranger. My breathing was controlled and even.

"We need to talk."

Now I had his attention. He lowered his arm and looked me up and down. I was dressed in Rangeman black.

"You're working for Ranger!" he said, throwing the donut back in the box with disgust. "You just told me you weren't going to do that!"

"I'm not working for Ranger. I'm working for myself. I'm choosing to work with Ranger. I enjoy working with Ranger."

"So, what? This is what you want? What about us? Is this over?"

"I don't want to marry you, Joe. I love you. But I think we need to end this once and for all. I'm not going to change my mind. This is who I am. I'm not 18 years old, trying to figure out what to do with my life. I'm here, living it. This is my life."

"By the time you decide you've had enough playing with GI Ranger and his toy soldiers, it's going to be too late for you to be a mother. You understand the full consequences of this decision? Because I'm not going to ask you again."

"I understand," I assured him. I realized how pivotal this moment was. I looked him right in the eye, no tears, no guilt, no hysterics. "I love you, Joe. I don't want to be your wife. I want you to have everything you need, everything you want. Don't wait. I'm not going to change my answer."

He just stared at me, like he'd never actually seen me before. Bob lay down on the floor, his head down on his paws, sensing the tension.

Without another word, he closed the box, slid if off the counter. He clipped Bob to his leash, and left. No ranting or raving. There was nothing to say. It had all been said before. And I was strangely relieved to have it behind us.

I let my eyes linger on the two steaming cups of coffee sitting side by side on the counter. Tears threatened to break, but I swallowed them back down. This was right. I wasn't going to feel sorry for myself. I remembered Rogenbach's words. It was up to me to make my life better. I took a deep breath and felt solid. I thought about the look in Anders' eye when he talked about racing. There was a straightaway ahead of me instead of a fork in the road. I was going to hit the gas and meet this mission head on.

Joyce Barnhardt wasn't going to know what hit her.


	13. The Rangeman Tour

I rolled into the Rangeman parking garage at 9:15 am. I noticed that all three of Ranger's personal vehicles were in the garage.

Ranger had four parking spaces in the back of the garage right by the elevator. Ranger's Porsche 911 Turbo was parked on the left, closest to the elevator. There was an empty space, then his Porsche Cayenne. In the fourth space was his Ford F-150. All were black, shiny, and immaculate. Every time I parked next to Ranger's vehicles with one of my piece of junk cars, I felt like I was committing sacrilege.

I had noticed that Ranger had been leaving that second spot open for some time, and I remembered thinking it was odd. This was the first time I realized he was leaving the number two space open for me. Tank had his own space. My space was right next to Ranger, closer than Tank's space. I stood back, looking at it. Every Rangeman on his way to work was reminded that my place was right next to Ranger. And when that space was open, I was out there somewhere, and they were responsible for my safety.

I hit the button for the elevator, giving a little smile and a finger waive to the camera. I got in and pushed five.

I swung down the hall, feeling liberated, even light. I was where I was supposed to be, and I didn't need to feel guilty anymore.

I pushed through the doors to the control room. Ranger had been informed of my arrival. He was on his way down the hall from his office. He wasn't smiling. He was all business in front of his men. He was the Alpha male, the one they respected and feared.

On the few occasions I had worked on five, Ranger was concerned that my flip attitude would undermine his authority. To be honest, I hadn't taken him seriously. I thought it was an ego trip.

Today, I felt like I had just woken up from a dream. I was fully conscious of what Ranger had built here. I saw both the strength and fragility of the system. Rangeman was a living, breathing entity. And I was uniquely privileged to be allowed inside. I had never seen anyone else in the building but Rangemen and Ella. All of the Rangemen were hand-picked. They had to be trust worthy. Ranger had to know they were here to serve a higher purpose than making money or cracking heads. Otherwise, his enemies could buy them and infiltrate Rangeman. The men were subject to surprise inspections and safety checks in addition to full spectrum drug tests. They received routine physicals, mental health evaluations, and were required to log their exercise and dietary regimens. They had regular weapons training and evaluations. They practiced hand to hand combat and martial arts. Ranger knew if his men were paying their bills and managing their finances. Jobs and partners were shuffled on a random schedule to reduce opportunity for tampering and to limit access to Rangeman systems. It was also done to promote team building and versatility. These men trusted each other with their lives, whether they were out on the streets or pulling monitor duty. They didn't have privacy and they didn't have many secrets.

What the men received in exchange was exclusive membership to the sort of brotherhood the military promised but often failed to provide. Ranger invested in his men, in their health, education, and training. Rangemen were elite. They had a sense of self-worth and belonging that money could never buy. Rangemen were not expendable. This atmosphere was so rare, they wouldn't risk expulsion. It's not like they could go two blocks over and find another outfit to join. This was it. The men were held to high standards, and if they failed, they failed the team, and they suffered repercussions. But they paid their dues, made amends, and were usually re-instated. And Rangeman got stronger. This was not a job. It was a lifestyle. It was a family.

Being the only female employee, or the only honorary member, to whom none of these rules applied, had always made me feel unsure in the past. What was I doing here? I wasn't ex-military and I hadn't been educated in the prison system. I barely had any skills when compared to your average Rangeman. But today, I was sure of what I wasn't. I wasn't Ranger's entertainment.

I looked at the faces around me. Ram was at the monitors. He was one of the youngest Rangemen, probably about 21, half Hispanic, half Caucasian. Like most Rangemen, he was bi-lingual and sported bulging biceps. Ram was amazing with computers. He was wearing a gaming style headset with one ear piece and a mic. I was pretty sure I made him nervous. Most of the Rangemen were surprised to see me when I visited. They looked like they were unsure whether to smile at me or salute.

I decided just to be myself. I smiled at Ram as I approached his area. Ranger joined us.

"Ram's reviewed everything we have so far. Nothing on Joyce," Ranger told me.

"Thanks for working on this for me," I said to Ram.

"Da nada," he said with a shrug, turning back to the monitors. He was working on something else. I looked over his shoulder, watching him work for a few moments. It was all numbers and letters and symbols to me. Some kind of computer code.

"What are you working on?" I asked.

Ram stopped typing and looked to Ranger, who gave a nearly imperceptible nod.

"I'm running an analysis of your personal communications algorithms to determine if we need to increase storage capacity to execute them with the updated parameters."

I raised my eyebrows, turning to Ranger. "I'm costing you time and resources again," I realized.

"No." Ranger was firm. "The monitoring is not negotiable."

"What updated parameters?" I asked Ram.

"We are constantly updating the list of words and phrases that should raise and alert at the monitoring desk. We included a new list yesterday for Joyce Barnhardt and all known associates."

"All known associates? She only had 7 husbands," I said.

"We updated 132 associates," Ram informed me. "The list includes family, teachers, neighbors, employers, attorneys, the ex-husband, the ex-husband's families, and the ex-husband's attorneys."

"Wow," I said.

I had to step back. This was normally the point where I would blow a gasket in front of Ranger's men. I closed my eyes and took in a deep breath, holding it. Ranger and Ram knew what they were doing. They were the best. I was in good hands. If they felt this was necessary, it probably was. I exhaled slowly and completely.

"Babe?"

"I'm good. Just took me by surprise."

"Why don't you tell me about Rogenbach?"

"Not much to tell. Joyce married Rogenbach. Joyce did Dickie. I divorced Dickie. He lost out on his partnership opportunity. It was awarded to Rogenbach. But Dickie accused Rogenbach of sending Joyce to sabotage him. Rogenbach divorced Joyce and was forced to resign. He lost his practice, hitchhiked to Spokane, and took up prospecting."

"Prospecting?"

"He's practicing law while panning for gold on the side. That's all. He didn't know what Joyce's problem is."

"Go figure."

"Yeah. He seems happy. He vacations in the Bahamas. Guess Joyce bailed too soon on that one."

"Anything else I should know?"

"Morelli showed up this morning. I told him I didn't want to marry him and he should move on."

Ranger cut his eyes to Ram who was still typing without missing a beat.

"Do you want to wait a while before calling Dickie?"

"Not necessary. Let's do this."

Ranger rolled up a chair and I sat down at the next station. Ranger sat beside me. He put on a headset too, intending to listen in.

Ram handed me what looked like a track phone. I pulled out the paperwork Connie gave me with Dickie's new office number. I punched in the number, my finger hovering over the send button.

"We're not even here," Ranger said when I hesitated.

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes at him. I closed my eyes and tried to find my zone. After a few more deep breaths, I hit the button.

Dickie's receptionist answered. "Richard Orr's office."

Resuming my Fran Drescher voice, I said, "Good morning. My name is Anita. I'm calling from the Trenton Times. I'm working on a story that I think would interest Mr. Orr. I was hoping he might see fit to provide me with a quote."

"Can I ask what this story is regarding?"

"It's regarding the Barnhardt - Plum rivalry."

"Excuse me?"

"He'll understand," I assured her.

"One moment."

I imagined the receptionist buzzing the secretary. Sure enough, the velvety voice of Dickie's secretary came on the line.

"This is Sarah Lambert, Dickie Orr's secretary. May I help you?"

"Good morning. My name is Anita. I'm calling from the Trenton Times. I was hoping for a moment of Mr. Orr's time. I'm writing a piece I think he will find very interesting and I was hopeful for a quote from Mr. Orr."

"I'm sorry. Mr. Orr isn't available at the moment. Can I take a message?"

Damn.

Ranger slipped a note to me. FAX THE STORY.

"Would it be possible for me to fax the story to Mr. Orr? I would be interested to hear his response."

"Of course."

Ranger jotted down the number.

"May I get your name, please?"

"Anita Nap-Grumbles," I said.

Ram stopped typing and Ranger burst into a full on smile, trying not to laugh.

"Uh. Can you spell your last name for me please?"

"G-N-A-P, hyphen, G-R-U-M-B-L-E-S. The first G is silent."

"And what is the best number for him to reach you?"

Ranger slipped me a note with the number. I read it off.

"Thank you. I'll see that Mr. Orr receives your message."

"Thank you." And I disconnected.

"Babe, someday we need to talk about creating a believable alias," Ranger said, trying to compose himself.

"What?" I shrugged. "I needed something I could remember."

"That explains it," he said. "You can use my office on five or you can go up to seven."

"Thanks for the homework assignment," I groused. Then I remembered about not undermining Ranger's authority. "No, seriously. Thanks. You've given me an idea."

"Babe." Probably this meant I was making him nervous. He could see the wheels turning, and he smelled smoke.

"I think I'll go up to seven," I told him.

"Call if you need anything. I'll be working on site for about an hour. I'll call before I leave," and he headed back to his office.

I took the elevator to seven. The door opened to a small foyer and I used the key fob to open the carved mahogany door. I walked down the long hall to the living room. Just then, my stomach growled. I hadn't eaten any of the Boston Creams Morelli brought over. Then I lost my appetite.

The thought of Ella's food possibly being in Ranger's fridge was too tempting. I went to the kitchen. All of the appliances were stainless. I opened the fridge. There was fresh fruit, bottled water, some left over stew from yesterday, some salad ready for later today, and a piece of the chocolate cake. I couldn't believe my luck. I grabbed a water and the cake, fished a fork out of the drawer, and sat down at the breakfast bar to enjoy every last bite.

Once I had cleaned up, I padded to Ranger's bedroom and on to his den. I sat down in his executive office chair and breathed in the lingering scent of Bulgari. I felt somewhat at home here. I had stayed in Ranger's apartment as a guest a number of times. I turned on the computer and opened the word processor.

I made a quick outline of what I wanted Dickie to know. Then below that I made a list of questions I wanted answered. I wasn't the best a putting it all together though. I went online and searched for photos I could use for the story. I chose one of Joyce that the times used when she was interviewed during Dickie's disappearance. She appeared to be the outraged fiancee, claiming that I had kidnapped or killed Dickie. I thought it would look just as appropriate with a subtitle "Trenton's Hottest Female Bounty Hunter." I searched for a picture of me. I settled on one of me that also ran in the Times, showing me in my finest moment, delivering Joe Morelli to the Trenton PD lock-up.

I looked over at the intercom and pressed six, for the sixth floor. Ella, Ranger's housekeeper, and her husband Louis, lived on the sixth floor.

"Yes?" Ella answered.

"It's Stephanie," I told her.

"Oh, Miss Stephanie. How nice! What can I do for you?"

"I need some help, but I don't know who to ask. I have an outline for a newspaper article. I need someone to help polish it and maybe make it look authentic."

"You need Hector," she said.

"No, I've met Hector. He installs home security systems and does electronics. I need help with my writing."

"Yes, you need Hector. He did time with a forger."

"Oh." I didn't see that coming. "But, he doesn't speak English."

"Just because he doesn't speak it, doesn't mean he doesn't understand it," Ella explained. "Would you like me to go with you to talk to him?"

"Not necessary. I'll call if I need help."

"Okay, dear. And welcome back."

"Thanks," I said, and disconnected.

I printed a copy of my outline and transferred the file and the two photos to a flash drive I found in Ranger's top drawer. I knew it was blank. He doesn't keep data stored that way.

I took the elevator down to five and went back to the control room.

Cal was sitting at the station that monitors Rangeman vehicles and personnel. Cal was a bulging hulk that I usually referred to as Steroidasaurus. He was easy to identify. He was the only Rangeman with a flaming skull tattooed on his forehead. We has some history. He spent time in the hospital thanks to me. Not that I caused the injury. It was just one of those things. He fainted, when my sister's water broke on him, and he bounced his melon off the floor at the hospital. So, it was handy we were already there when it happened.

I approached Cal. He didn't smile or look away from the monitors.

"Excuse me, Cal. I was wondering if you would happen to know where I could find Hector?"

Cal pressed a button and the monitor displayed a schedule.

"Hector is downstairs on the firing range. He'll be leaving to install a new residential system with Rodriguez in about an hour."

"Thanks," I said.

I got in the elevator and pressed B for basement.

The doors opened to a long hall that lead to the firing range. I watched the men practicing through the safety glass for a few minutes. Hal was on duty in the cage, checking out ammunition and whatever else the job entailed.

Hal was another Rangeman who had been assigned to guard my body in the past. He was just a little smaller than Tank, which makes him larger than everyone else. I had nicknamed him Halosaurus. I was particularly fond of Hal for two reasons. He wasn't the sharpest pencil in the box, so sometimes I got by him when he was guarding me. And two, he once prevented Joyce from following me. Ranger's orders had been to disable Joyce's vehicle. I'm sure Ranger was thinking they would puncture the tires. But Hal removed Joyce's engine from her car, because one of the guys bet him a burger he couldn't get it out. What you need to understand is that Hal didn't use tools to remove the engine. He reached in and ripped it out of the car.

Hal was looking at me, not sure if he was supposed to do something to assist me, so I smiled at him and gave him a little finger wave. He nodded slightly, and returned to his work.

One of the guys on the range noticed me watching them and alerted the others. When Hector turned, I waved at him, and pointed for him to come to the door. He nodded, reeled in his target and cleared his station.

A few minutes later, he had checked in his unused ammo with Hal, loaded and holstered his regular piece, and was headed out to the hall to talk to me.

"Hola, Stephanie," he said, smiling at me.

Hector was in his mid-to-late 20's. He was slim compared to most Rangemen, Hispanic, and just about my height. Like Cal, Hector is easy to pick out of the line-up because he has distinctive tattoos. Hector was recruited out of prison, and had a gang slogan tattooed on his neck and a single teardrop tattooed under his eye. I had never asked for details, but Ranger had assured me that Hector hadn't killed anyone in quite a while. He had left me alone with Hector at my apartment a couple times, so I was pretty sure Ranger wouldn't mine me asking Hector for help.

"Hola," I said, exhausting my entire Spanish vocabulary aside from "gracias" and the menu at Taco Bell.

I handed him the outline I had printed.

"I need to write up a newspaper article. I have this outline and two photos on this flash drive," I showed him. "I'm no good at this sort of thing. Ella suggested that I ask you for help."

"Trenton Times?" he asked, looking at my notes.

"Yes," I said.

"Si," he answered, gesturing for me to follow him to the elevator.

Hector pressed four. I was expecting five. The studio apartments some of the Rangemen lease for convenience are on four. I wasn't sure I was allowed there. Ranger cleared an apartment for me to use once, so I had seen these apartments, but I didn't stay long. It was lonely on four.

The elevator opened to a hall that looked like any modern motel. I followed Hector to the second door on the left. He opened it with a key fob and turned on the lights. The room was sterile, clean, and I knew Ella was in charge of housekeeping, so everything was perfect.

There was a desk with a lap top in the far corner. Hector gestured for me to sit on the couch and handed me the remote for the television. He took the flash drive and started working while I was surfing channels.

It was only about ten minutes later when I heard the printer warming up. Hector studied the printed page, didn't look totally satisfied, but he handed it over to me for my opinion.

I was floored. It looked exactly like a photocopy of an already published newspaper article. It appeared as if someone had taken today's paper, folded it in quarters to show the article, and then placed it on a color copier. It was a little askew, the date was clearly yesterday's, the article was clear and concise. The by-line was blank. I hadn't given him a name. The photos were sized proportionate to the piece. I was amazed.

Hector pointed to the missing name. I went to the desk, took a pen and wrote in my pseudonym. Hector read it twice, then looked at me, as if asking permission to laugh.

"It's supposed to be funny," I said.

He smiled, and went back to work. A minute later, he handed me the finished copy.

"Hector, this is perfect. I don't know how to thank you," I said.

"Da nada," he said, handing me back the flash drive. He pointed to the paper and then to the drive, indicating that he saved it for me. Then he tapped his watch. He had to go. I nodded.

Hector took me to five before heading down to the garage.

I went through the control room and down the hall to Ranger's office.

"Knock, knock," I said, leaning on the door frame.

"Babe. You done with your story? I thought maybe you were taking a nap." The corner of his mouth quirked. He was teasing.

"I'm done. What do you think?" I asked, handing him the printout.

Ranger studied it for a beat. "I think someone else did your homework," he said.

"I did the outline and picked out the pictures. Hector did the rest."

He looked up at me. "How did you know Hector could help you?"

"Ella," I said, smiling.

"You have a disturbingly sharp learning curve," he said, making a mental note.

"I still need help faxing it. Won't the cover letter come across with Rangeman's fax number?"

"Nope." Ranger turned to the scanner behind his desk. I handed him the fax number, and moments later, Ranger handed me the confirmation.

"Now I guess we'll just wait to hear from Dickie," I said.

"Won't be long," he promised. "If that doesn't shake his tree, I don't know what will."

"There's something else I need to tell you," I said, shifting nervously.

Ranger's serious face fell into place. "About Morelli?"

"No. I told you everything about that. This is something else."

He raised an eyebrow expectantly.

"I ate your cake," I told him.

Ranger shook his head. "Babe. The cake was for you."


	14. The Reaction

Ranger left me at Rangeman. He followed Hector and Rodriguez to visit the new client, and then had some social calls to make. It was Ranger's way of keeping his ear to the ground. He had regular meetings, not just with clients, but with some pretty unsavory characters. He didn't elaborate on his plans for the day, and I didn't ask.

I went back to the monitor station where Ram was still working on algorithms. I turned on the computer at an empty station and started researching news articles on husband number three, Wayne Brandt, the investor that screwed me out of my lingerie buying job at EE Martin. It was going to be hard to keep my cool with this guy. I didn't get the feeling he was going to be anywhere near as nice as Anders and Rogenbach, either.

I read several articles, understanding none of it. I was getting frustrated when Ram turned to me, handing me a head set.

"Dickie's calling Joyce," he said.

I slipped the head set on, nearly falling out of my seat as I tried to scoot closer to Ram's monitor.

"Hello?" Joyce answered, her deep voice sounding annoyed, as ever.

"It's Dickie. What the hell is going on? I've got some reporter calling me about you being the new number one female bounty hunter in Trenton."

"That's right," Joyce crooned. She never missed an opportunity for flattery, especially self flattery.

"You took Stephanie's job?"

"You bet."

"Why?"

"Because I can." Wasn't that the truth.

"How?"

"What are you saying? I'm not good enough?"

"Good enough to convince Vinnie, sure."

"That hurts," Joyce said sarcastically, like she cared what Dickie thought of her.

"Well, it's me they've got you linked to in the papers," he complained. "I just got my shingle back out. I don't need this crap."

"I'm in the paper?" she asked?

"Yeah, the Times, yesterday, and apparently for the next couple weeks. They're doing a series on you two."

Joyce seemed to be looking around for yesterday's paper.

"Damn, it went out in the trash. Read it to me."

For the last few years, Trenton's Bombshell Bounty Hunter has been making headlines. Stephanie Plum of Vincent Plum Bail Bonds made a big splash with her first apprehension, not only capturing fugitive Trenton police officer Joe Morelli but proving his innocence. And the hits just kept on coming. With a stellar record for getting her man, a penchant for explosive vehicle demolition and random fires, and most recently, with an alluring billboard plastered to the side of a bus, Stephanie Plum has made her mark as the leading Bond Enforcement Agent.

Today, that icon status is being challenged by the equally colorful Joyce Barnhardt. Dressed head to tow in black leather, she lives up to the image inspired by television legends. The boisterous, red-headed Maven has reportedly ousted the Bombshell from the top job, according to Vincent Plum.

"This rivalry goes way back," Vincent tells us. "Most people think it started when Joyce stole Stephanie's husband, Dickie. But, this thing went back to grade school with these two."

Is this conflict the result of jealousy or is it fueled by a need for revenge? The venomous looks exchanged during the police investigation of local attorney Richard "Dickie" Orr's disappearance testify that no love is lost between these ladies. Miss Barnhardt accused Miss Plum of kidnapping and murder. But she was cleared of all wrongdoing when it was revealed that Mr. Orr was actually in police custody at the time. So, what is the true source of the tension? Is Richard Orr, in fact, at the center of it all?

Our preliminary research revealed some startling findings. While Miss Plum has been married only once, briefly, to local attorney Richard Orr, Miss Barnhardt has been married no less than seven times! The Plum-Orr marriage was indeed dissolved when Miss Plum filed for divorce following an affair between Miss Barnhardt and Mr. Orr. But what was not made public was that Miss Barnhardt's marriage to rival local attorney, David Rogenbach, was also dissolved as a result.

This wasn't Miss Barnhardt's first union. Her antics during her marriage to plumber Hank Anders was equally unsettling. Anders was formally accused of defamation in a dispute with Stankovic Plumbing and Heating. On the surface, this may appear to be a frivolous dispute between competitors in the field. But what the filing did not reveal was that Miss Plum and Mary Lou Stankovic have been best friends since elementary school. Prior to his association with Miss Barnhardt, Hank Anders was well liked and had been in business without incident for seven years. When he was forced to file bankruptcy, Miss Barnhardt filed for divorce. Did Mr. Anders also fall victim to the Barnhardt-Plum rivalry?

Miss Plum has been linked to her first fugitive, Trenton Homicide Detective Joseph Morelli, for the past several years. Are there wedding bells in their future? Similarly, Miss Barnhardt continues to be seen with Richard "Dickie" Orr. She claimed to be his fiancée at the time of his disappearance, but alas, there is no ring on her finger as of yet. Is it true love, or could The Maven in black leather be laying a trap for husband number eight?

How long has this rivalry been going on, and will it continue? This reporter wants to know, and I'm sure many of my readers do as well. So I will be conducting a series of interviews over the next few weeks. Stay tuned.

"The Maven," Joyce repeated, trying on her new moniker. "The Red-Haired Maven," she repeated, letting it roll off her tongue.

"I guess Mistress of Mayhem was already taken," Dickie said, grumpily.

"I like it," she decided.

"Great. What you need to do is to set this story shut down."

"Why? You know what they say. 'Any publicity is good publicity.'"

"Not for me! I'm trying to run a respectable law practice here. Not to mention, I can't risk making Stephanie unhappy, or I may have bigger problems. Like Ranger."

"She's not sleeping with Ranger," Joyce laughed.

"The papers may say she's marrying Morelli, but I have been in that house and it's not happening."

"What are you saying?" Joyce was suddenly paying close attention.

"I'm saying, she and Morelli aren't as tight as people think. Believe me, I know how independent that girl is. And Mr. Perfect is not getting through to her."

"Really?" Joyce purred, more eager to hear this news than her own.

"Sure."

"I'm having such a good day."

"Well, I'm not. I've got a reporter calling me, and I've already got Ranger on my ass."

"Ranger? Why? What did you do?"

"I filed suit against that giant ape he's got working for him for injuring me when he rousted me from Stephanie's apartment."

"You really are as dumb as you look," Joyce sneered. "You can't sue Ranger."

"Yeah, I got that message," Dickie groaned, probably looking at his broken finger. "And we both know Stephanie's tight with him too. I don't need him over here cracking my skull because of this. What the hell am I supposed to tell the Times?"

"I don't care what you tell the reporter," Joyce snapped. "You just better make me look good."

"How the hell am I supposed to do that? Tell her you're good in the sack?"

I could hear Joyce smiling. "That goes without saying."

I made a gagging motion and pretended to throw up. Ram smiled at me.

"I want to tell that reporter this thing didn't start with our affair. I want out of the middle of this mess."

"Fine. Tell her whatever you want."

Dickie paused. "Why do you hate Stephanie? I mean, I know she's a pain in the ass. But, was there a particular reason?"

"Like I'm telling you now," Joyce laughed. "Ta ta." And she disconnected.

"Damn!" I said, tossing the head set on the table.

"What's wrong?" Tank asked, walking up behind me.

"Joyce didn't tell Dickey why she hates me."

Tank didn't say anything.

"I'll call you if we get anything more," Ram assured me.

"Thanks," I said, turning off the computer I had been using and getting up from my seat.

Tank was checking an account. He seemed satisfied, and returned the monitor to it's regular view.

"Tank, do you have a minute?" I asked tentatively.

Tank looked at me with a blank expression. "In my office?" he asked. I took this to mean, "Is this going to be personal?"

"Yes," I said.

"OK."

Tank lead the way and I followed him down the hall.

I sat in the comfy leather wing chair opposite Tank's desk as he shut the door. Once he was seated facing me, I studied him for a moment. I had never had much luck interfacing one on one with Tank. I wasn't sure this conversation was going to be any better. He looked like he was having the same thought.

"It's about Lula, isn't it?" he asked.

"No," I said, "but we can talk about it if you want to."

"No," he said.

"You sure?"

He thought for a second. "No."

"No, you don't want to talk about Lula, or no, you're not sure?"

Tank sighed.

"I don't intend to tell her about Celia." I tried to look re-assuring.

"You won't?" He looked surprised and relieved.

"Do you love Lula?" I asked.

"I think so. Yeah."

I gave him a measured look. "I was kind of looking for a yes or no answer."

"Yes." he decided.

"You two are good together," I told him. "And she's deliriously happy that you're back together, Tank. My advice to you is never to let her find out you rented that house full of cats to get rid of her."

"I just meant to slow her down. I didn't mean to break it off," he explained.

"I get it. She won't. Don't tell her."

"OK."

"That wasn't what I wanted to talk to you about," I started. I shifted nervously in my seat.

"You want to talk about Ranger," he assumed.

"No," I said. Tank looked immediately relieved. "What I want to know is, who was the guy that nearly blew him up yesterday?"

Tank looked stunned. I wasn't sure if he was surprised that I knew what happened yesterday or that I was asking him instead of Ranger.

"He told you?"

"He said this guy was crazy, like Orin, and that he was one of many that he comes in contact with."

"Yeah," Tank said.

"Does this guy have a name?"

"Why do you need to know?" he asked, eyeing me suspiciously. Yeah, like I was going to go after this guy by myself.

"How many crazy guys like Orin are out there?"

"I would guess there are about a dozen on our radar right now."

"Nationwide, right?"

"Trenton and Miami," he corrected.

"And how many in Trenton?"

"Five that are active."

"So, from what you're telling me and what Ranger's telling me, I should expect to wake up in a safe house at any given time, day or night?"

"Yeah," he admitted. Then he looked surprised again. "Ranger talked to you about that?"

"About locking me up in a safe house the next time there's a serious threat?"

"Yeah."

"He mentioned it," I said. "He isn't kidding this time, is he?"

"No."

"Should I pack a bag for you guys to bring to me in the event of such an emergency?"

"Already done."

"Ella?"

Tank nodded.

"Good to know." I got up slowly. "Glad we had this talk." And I showed myself out the door.

Just then, my cell phone rang. I didn't recognize the number.

"Hello?" I answered.

"Anita, I have a transfer call for you." It was Ram transferring Dickie's call to the paper.

"Thank you," I said. I heard a faint click. Turning on my Fran Drescher voice again, I answered. "This is Anita."

"This is Richard Orr, returning your call."

"Oh, Mr. Orr. Thank you. Did you receive my fax?" I asked as I walked back towards Ram's station.

"Yes, I did."

"What was your reaction to the piece?" I asked eagerly, sitting down beside Ram who was still listening on his head set.

"I'll tell you what my reaction is. If you don't print a retraction in tomorrow's paper and cease working on this story, I'll be filing suit by the close of business tomorrow," he huffed.

"Now, now. Mr. Orr, the facts were checked. They may be unpleasant, but they are true," I told him in a sing-song voice.

"Listen here, Anita. I'm not a man to be trifled with. I have connections in this town. Mark my words, you will be lucky to be typing up classified ads by the end of the week."

"I'm sorry, Mr. Orr. I don't think you understand. The Times is in the business of selling papers. The Bombshell sells papers. The Bombshell at war with an arch-nemesis...well. That's gold. I'll be settling into my corner office by the end of the week. But thank you for calling me back. Your reaction was most...interesting." And I disconnected.

"You bitch!" Dickie yelled, slamming his hand down on the desk.

I nearly dropped the phone and Ram ripped his head set off as Dickie let out a scream that was muddied amid a horrible screeching feedback.

"That had to hurt," I said, both laughing and wincing.

Ram looked at me, eyes wide, not sure what just happened.

"Ranger broke Dickie's index finger yesterday," I explained. "One of the bugs is in his finger splint."

Ram raised both eyebrows, and then began adjusting the settings of the monitor.

"Is the bug still working?"

"We still have one," he said as he discontinued monitoring on the bug that was still screeching.

"Great," I said, blowing out a sigh.

Ram was trying not to smile.

"What?" I asked.

"Dickie's making another call," he said, handing me a headset. I cautiously put it on.

"Who is he calling?"

"The Times." Ram's eyes were laughing, even though he was trying hard to maintain the Rangeman blank face, the professional standard.

"News Desk," a man answered.

"This is attorney Richard Orr. I'm calling to lodge a complaint."

"About what?" the man asked wearily, as if he got calls like this all day long.

"Anita Gnap-Grumbles."

There was silence for a beat. "What?"

"Anita Gnap-Grumbles."

"Look, I don't have time for you and your silly games. Grow up, get a real job, and stop calling me!" and he disconnected.


	15. The Retriever

I felt sort of un-anchored. I wasn't on the clock. There wasn't any place I needed to go. I didn't particularly want to go home. And the gas in my tank was going to have to last me. I didn't know what to do with myself, so I called Ella. I was curious about what was in my "overnight bag". She agreed to bring it to seven. Turned out, it was more like an "over a month bag". I expected this was something new that she had just put together, but it turned out, she'd been adding to it for over a year, before Ranger even asked. This was the third bag. Each one was a little larger than the last. This was a large, black duffle bag like a sailor would take on board a ship. As expected, Ella had thought of everything, and the bag had been so neatly packed, I felt guilty for making her put it all away again.

Ella went back downstairs to re-stock the employee kitchen on five. I turned on the television and watched half a movie before falling asleep.

When I woke up, it was after 4:00. The sound of Ranger tossing his keys into the silver tray in the foyer announced his presence. I tried to sit up, knowing I was probably a mess.

Ranger walked in, not surprised to see me.

"Babe," he said, his eyes were focused on my disheveled hair. "That's a good look for you." He had seen this look before, and it seemed to bring back pleasant memories.

"I love your couch," I told him. It was overstuffed and super soft, and the throw was heavenly. I yawned and stretched, then tried to stand. I turned to fold the throw cover and straighten the pillows. "How was your day?"

"Uneventful." He said, heading for the kitchen. He fished a bottle of water out of the fridge. "Hungry?"

"Sure." When wasn't I hungry? I had followed him in to the kitchen. He handed me his bottle of water and I took a sip, then handed it back.

"We could go out," he offered.

"Do I need to change?" I asked, trying to smooth my hair back into place.

"Depends," he said, giving me an appraising look. "Where do you want to go?"

I watched him finish off the bottle of water, distracted momentarily by his lips on the bottle where mine had just been. I thought for a second, then gave him a sly smile. "Someplace romantic."

Ranger hesitated. "Is that a 'yes' on changing clothes?"

"No," I said playfully. "I was thinking pizza. You wouldn't happen to know a great pizza place, would you?"

"You want me to take you to Shorty's?" he asked doubtfully, the corner of his mouth giving way to a smile.

"Yeah."

"For a romantic dinner, alone?" He was slowly closing the distance between us with each syllable.

"Yeah," I breathed.

When he reached me, he pulled me in for a bone melting kiss.

"It's romantic right here," he whispered.

He was right. No argument there.

"Yes, but I wanted to talk to you about something, and if we stay here," I almost moaned, "there won't be any talking."

He pulled back, releasing me.

"In that case, it's a date," he said.

"Yeah. It's a date," I agreed.

"Let's go, before I change my mind," he warned.

I grabbed my bag and followed him to the elevator. He beeped the Turbo unlocked and we both got in.

We didn't speak in the car. Ranger was in his zone, and I decided not to disturb him. We had been driving for about twenty minutes when Ranger reached for his cell phone and dialed Tank. He put the phone on speaker and clipped it to his visor.

"Who's on us?"

There was a pause while Tank checked the schedule.

"Woody and Lester."

"They need backup," Ranger said.

"Understood."

Ranger waited.

"Vince and Bobby are en-route."

"Brown Toyota Land Cruiser," Ranger said.

"Got an ID?"

"Negative."

My pulse was racing. They were so calm. Ranger took the on ramp to the interstate and we merged into faster traffic. We waited while Tank relayed the information.

"Unregistered plate," Tank advised.

"Have Woody approach from the driver's side."

"Ten four."

I watched Ranger watching the vehicles behind us. I couldn't see anything from where I sat.

A minute later Tank came back.

"ID Confirmed. Donaldson."

"Don't engage. I'm making a cleaning run."

"Ten four."

Ranger signaled and slowed as we approached the next exit ramp. Woody and Lester shot past us without looking at us. The brown SUV followed us, and so did Vince and Bobby, at a distance.

I had a routine I used to shake a tail. It involved rocketing down alleys and cutting across parking lots and occasionally someone's yard.

Ranger didn't try to shake the bad guy. He drove down the street, signaled, and pulled a u-turn. The brown SUV signaled left, turned into a parking lot, and waited for a few cars to pass before falling back in behind us.

Ranger pulled nearly 360 degrees into a parking lot, so we were facing the street as the SUV drove past. Ranger gave our tail no choice but to pass in front of us. As he did so, Ranger made a gun sign with his hand and pulled the trigger as the SUV passed. The large black man in the passenger seat saw him clearly and I think he might have needed to change his shorts afterwards. The SUV did not turn around.

"Follow him," Ranger ordered.

"We're on it," Bobby answered, apparently patched in on a conference call. And they disconnected.

Five minutes later, Ranger parked the car and shut off the engine. I may have described Shorty's as a hole-in-the-wall truck stop, but that doesn't fully describe it. Shorty's was situated in a neighborhood so derelict that even stray dogs didn't stay here. The windows were blacked out, and the clientele were scary as hell.

When we got out, I was glad to have Ranger sling his arm around my shoulders and pull me close.

"See? Romantic," Ranger whispered in my ear.

"Yeah, like a really scary horror movie," I whispered back.

"Yeah," he said, nuzzling my neck as he reached for the door.

It was dark inside, even in the daytime. I figured that was one of the reasons Ranger liked it. We went to the back, sitting at what I assumed was Ranger's regular table, where he had his back to the wall and was lost in shadow. He slid me into the booth first, tucking me into the corner of the room.

The waitress came over, and Ranger ordered, "Pizza and beer."

"How do they know what kind of pizza you want?" I asked. "Do you come here that often?"

"Rangeman only gets one kind of pizza."

"What, you have your own recipe?"

"Yeah. All fresh ingredients. Whole wheat crust. Light oils and cheese. Chicken. Spinach. Extra tomato sauce. The oils are infused with herbs and spices. Smoked chicken. It gives it a great flavor."

No question.

"What did you want to talk about?" Ranger asked,

"That guy who almost blew you up last night. I want to know about him."

"Babe," he said, as if I shouldn't burden myself with such things.

"If I'm stuck for life in this situation with you, I should know what's happening, Ranger."

He studied me for a beat. "Absolutely, under no circumstances, are you to go after any of my enemies or competitors. Understood?"

"Competitors? You mean, other bounty hunters?"

"Other...men of mercenary mentality."

"I promise," I said, holding up my hand in the Girl Scout salute. This got him smiling.

"The guy I told you about is a French Canadian who calls himself 'The Redeemer', because he is typically hired to return things that have been stolen or that need to be re-possessed. Things like jewelry, art, blue prints, microchips, people."

"So, pretty much anything," I summarized, swallowing hard.

"His real name, as much as anything is real about him, is Marcel Lye. But at Rangeman, we call him 'The Retriever'."

"Retriever, like 'woof-woof'?" I asked.

"Exactly." Ranger seemed pleased I was paying attention and keeping up.

"Do you know what he was after?"

"My job is security for my client. The Retriever's job is to steal from my client. You can see why we aren't friends."

"So, he's a bad guy, right?"

"He's an independent."

"An independent bad guy?"

"Does it matter?"

"Yes," I said, wrinkling my brow at Ranger. "You're not going to tell me that you're guarding safes for people who might be criminals, are you?"

"All of my clients have to pass strict background checks. You know this." I used to do the background checks on Ranger's clients.

"Then, what is he trying to retrieve?"

"A necklace."

"Must be one heck of a necklace if he was willing to blow himself up over it."

"He's willing to blow himself up rather than go to prison," Ranger corrected me. "He's being paid well to do the job. But he failed, so now, it's costing him. He's going to have to try again."

"So, this isn't over," I realized.

"No."

"And your client isn't a bad guy?"

"My client was awarded legal ownership. The necklace was willed to him by his grandfather. The Retriever's client disagrees with the court's ruling."

"So, it's a domestic squabble?"

"Something like that."

Our pizza and beers arrived and we started eating.

"A necklace isn't worth dying for. Why doesn't your client just sell it to the other guy? Or get rid of it?"

"We've discussed it."

"I can keep a secret, you know." I leaned close. "What kind of necklace is it?"

"It's a royal jubilee pendant, made from a crown jewel."

"So, your client is dirty." I looked disappointed.

"No. My client is one of the royal family."

My eyes were wide. "What country?"

"Need to know, Babe."

"And I don't need to know?"

"No."

I could tell I wasn't going to get anything more from Ranger, so I focused on the delicious food while I studied the scenery. I remembered seeing Cal here last time, with his flaming skull tattoo making him stand out even in this crowd. Still, he fit right in.

The waitress brought us refills and took our empty plates.

"Thinking about Brandt?" Ranger asked me.

"I should be, but I'm not."

"Why's that? He make you nervous?"

I nodded, looking sullen.

"That's so unlike you."

Wayne Brandt was husband number three, the investor who screwed me out of a good job. I was still hot about having my Mazda Miata repossessed. But when I read the articles online, I felt certain I was out of my depth on this one.

"I was thinking about something Vinnie used to say to me," I told him.

"Bring 'em back dead or alive?"

"No. 'How many times have I told you not to hit people in the face. Kick them in the body where it doesn't show.' I really want to hit Brandt in the face, but my gut feeling is that I'd be better off kicking him in the gut. Does that make any sense?"

Ranger appeared slightly more concerned than amused. "Babe, you don't have to take him down all by yourself. Use your instincts. Sniff around, see what you find out."

"How? I can't figure a way to get near this guy. He's not stupid like Dickie. I can't play reporter with him. My spidey sense tells me he was in on the EE Martin fiasco with Joyce and he profited from it. He's not a nice guy like Anders and Rogenbach."

"I checked his corporate schedule. There's a stock holder's meeting tomorrow at 9:00 am. It's open to all investors, and prospective investors. I think you should put your wig on and play the part of an unsuspecting trust fund baby. See if you can get close to him, talk to him."

"What makes you think he'll even talk to me."

"You're telling me Brandt isn't a stupid man, but, he married Joyce. He's got a serious weakness, and you just need to exploit it. Trust me, Babe. You've got what it takes."

I finished off my beer and sat silently, contemplating my options. I didn't have many. I needed a payday, and I felt a lot less guilty about making money off this guy than any of the others. Okay, except the insurance guy. I hated him too.

Ranger tucked a stray curl behind my ear. "You'll be fine," he said, reassuring me.

Just then, his cell phone vibrated.

"Yo," he said.

I leaned close to listen. It was Bobby.

"We got trouble. He's meeting with The Retriever. Third and Laramie."

I knew that bar.

"Call in a team to set up surveillance."

"Already on it."

"Keep on them."

"Yeah." And they disconnected.

"That doesn't sound good," I groaned.

"It's no surprise. Lye is going to need help."

"Who's Donaldson?"

"He's the help."


	16. The Contract

Tank must have been concerned about Ranger. I didn't notice them enter, but two Rangemen I didn't know were now sitting at a table in the middle of the restaurant. I picked them out when Ranger nodded slightly to them, acknowledging their presence. They had positioned themselves between us and the door. I could tell they were wearing kevlar vests. They looked like SWAT, and there was no question they were armed and dangerous. The waitress didn't even bother flirting with them. They were on duty. She was probably going to complain to Shorty that she should be earning hazard pay. Then again, just getting to work in this neighborhood should earn her hazard pay.

Ranger seemed to relax a little more now that we had company. He was finally taking his eyes off the door for more than ten seconds at a time. He slid his arm across the back of the booth and leaned close to me. I pressed in against him, enveloped by Bulgari and Ranger.

"Tell me about Donaldson," I whispered, almost pleading.

"What I tell you doesn't leave this booth. It's not common knowledge, even at Rangeman."

"Okay," I said, looking him in the eye. "It's top secret."

We were speaking so quietly, I knew my cell phone being monitored at Rangeman wasn't picking it up. Silence while I was with Ranger wouldn't alarm the control desk. That was normal.

"My special forces unit worked a couple joint missions with Donaldson's unit. He was dishonorably discharged, for good reason."

"What kind of reason?"

Ranger checked the room again. No one was paying attention to us. Sensing all was well, Ranger angled his body towards me. Wrapping both arms around me, he pulled me even closer into him.

He whispered into my ear, "We were on a beach landing. Our target was several miles inland. We had a deep-blue sky with a full moon shining on the water, tropical breezes, beautiful sandy beach. It would have been heaven on earth if we hadn't been there on business.

"We went in silent, stuck to the shadows. We should have been in and out. No one should have known we were there until morning, long after we were gone." Ranger paused. Obviously, the mission went terribly wrong. "Donaldson purposely left a dog to bark and alert the entire civilian population."

"What do you mean, 'he left a dog to bark'?"

"Sorry, Babe. But it's better to snipe a couple dogs than endanger women and children. I'd do it in a second. Donaldson didn't spare the dog out of sympathy. He wanted a fire fight, and he got one. The men in the village were armed, rebels and civilians alike. Our target ended up dead, so no intel, and we left behind a civilian body count where there shouldn't have been one at all."

"And that really pisses you off. I can tell."

"It was all fucked up. That's not how we operate," he growled. He was tense just thinking about it.

I placed my hand on his chest and tried to rub soothingly. "I know that's not how you operate," I assured him. He took my hand in his, pressing it to his heart.

"That wasn't the only time Donaldson failed to follow orders. He knew how to conduct himself, but chose not to. He's got control issues."

"And that makes him dangerous," I assumed.

"Yeah. He's not crazy, but he is a murderer. There is a difference, and Donaldson is a perfect example."

"So, the crazy guy, The Retriever, has hired Donaldson, the murderer, to help him get the necklace?"

"Looks that way."

"What are you going to do?"

"I'd like to think Donaldson is smart enough to re-think the deal and walk away. If not, I'll protect my territory. He's been warned." Ranger made the gun sign again with his hand. I got the feeling Donaldson had already received his final warning.

"If he accepts the deal, is that a contract to kill you?"

"Yeah." Ranger said this like it was no big deal.

I swallowed hard. Right this minute, there could be a contract out on Ranger's life. I looked back to the two men in SWAT sitting between us and the door, and Ranger's posture, shielding me with his body.

"How often does this happen?

"Not often. I discourage the practice," he whispered.

"If he hasn't taken the deal yet, why was he following us earlier?"

"Probably just got in town and wanted to say 'hi'."

"He'll probably turn it down right? I mean, it's Donaldson against all of Rangeman. Those don't seem like very good odds."

"Donaldson runs his own outfit. We're pretty evenly matched."

"Who would want to work for a guy like Donaldson?"

"Other men who like to kill for money, men I turned down for employment at Rangeman, mercenaries who have burned bridges elsewhere. There are a lot of men with special forces or military training who were never fit to serve. In case you haven't noticed, some former special forces guys are addicted to the life and tend to run in packs. And that's one of the reasons I'm not going on missions anymore. There's enough to do here." He kissed me gently. "No more questions."

"Please, just one more question?"

"It'll cost you," he teased, brushing my ear as he spoke, then he slowly moved down to kiss my neck.

I got a shiver from head to toe. "What's the price?" I asked, nearly breathless.

He brushed my lips with his as he answered, "You stay on seven tonight."

I got a rush of heat at the thought.

"Okay," I agreed, not only for my own safety but to ease Ranger's mind. And yes, after Orin, I was scared. Really scared.

I pulled back just enough to look at him and caught him glancing up at a Budweiser mirror behind us, checking the room. He immediately returned his focus to me.

"What do you want to know?"

"You said you aren't going on missions anymore."

"Yeah. But that's not a question."

"Did you stop because of Colombia?"

"Colombia was my last government mission. I did a few things on the side, but they weren't that intense."

"Who were you working for?"

"Friends."

"Friends with their own outfits?"

"Yeah."

"Oh."

"You sound disappointed," he said, lifting my chin to look at me better. "What answer were you looking for?"

I shrugged.

"Colombia was my last mission, but not for the reasons you might think."

"You almost died," I whispered, my voice felt stuck in my throat as I said it.

"I noticed." He tucked me into him again. "After that mission, I couldn't fool myself into believing I was invincible anymore. It's necessary to be in denial going into a deep cover mission. That's why I opted out. I'm not afraid to die. But I don't want to endanger the mission or the men. My time was up.

"Oh," I said again.

"Maybe you wanted me to say it was because of you. But that was early on with us. I didn't know you well enough to love you. Even if I did, my love for you then was nothing compared to the love I have for you now." He paused, just breathing, probably checking the room again.

"Ranger," I started, but my throat was suddenly dry. I tried to quietly clear my throat.

"Babe?" He caressed my hand again, returning it to his chest. I could feel his heart beating strong and steady beneath the muscles. How could I dare think for one moment that he could be mine?

"Nothing," I whispered, shaking my head. "It was stupid."

He was waiting. "Ask."

"About marriage," I wondered. "You've changed your mind?"

"Yeah." I froze. It had to be a dream. I expected to wake up any second. "It didn't happen overnight. But it started with Colombia."

"What do you mean?"

"I attended a funeral when I got back. This man was hopelessly in love. I mean, he was head over heels crazy for this woman. And she knew it. But he didn't make it official. When he died, his funeral flag went to his estranged mother. His woman didn't receive notification of his death. She had no right to his remains. She didn't receive any benefits. She wasn't presented his medals or his tags or his personal effects. The Army didn't consider her to be the most important person in his life. She was nobody. That's when I realized marriage wasn't about a piece of paper. He should have claimed her as his own."

"The man that died. Was he with you in Colombia?"

"Yeah." Ranger's voice nearly broke.

"You went in to rescue him," I realized.

Ranger nodded slightly.

"I'm so sorry," I whispered. A tear escaped, but I just let it streak my face.

Ranger wiped it away. "I found the source of the problem. It won't happen again."

"The person who gave intel on you?"

Ranger nodded. I wasn't at all surprised.

"But, you didn't want to get married, even long after that," I said, trying to steer the conversation back to the present.

"I thought you would marry Morelli." He stroked my hair softly. "Are you really through?"

"Yes. It's over."

He just held me for a few moments. Finally, he pulled back to really look at me, holding my face in his hands.

"Do you love me?" he asked.

"Yes," I told him, holding nothing back.

"I want you to go back to Rangeman with Dragon and Mace." He indicated the two men sitting nearby. "Don't give them any grief."

"What about you?"

"I may not be back tonight," he told me. "This situation demands my attention right now."

I nodded.

He kissed me gently again. Then I followed Ranger to the door.


	17. The Intel

It was only 7:00 when we left Shorty's. I was in the back seat of a black Rangeman SUV. Dragon was driving with Mace riding shotgun.

Dragon was oriental mixed-race, with lots of scaly looking blue-green tattoos showing on the back of his neck and down the backs of his arms, ending with dragon claws tattooed on the backs of his hands. The tattooed claws continued under neath his finger nails and down the tips of his fingers, with traces of blood red making them look even more menacing. I didn't even know you could get a tattoo under the finger nails. He'd obviously had them removed for the procedure. I shuddered at the thought. I assumed he had a large dragon on his chest, and probably the tattoo wrapped around his body. He was typical Rangeman, about 5'10", muscular, and probably a martial arts expert.

Mace was very black with huge lips. He had round facial features that didn't make him look all that mean even when he was glaring, but his prominent bicep and pectoral bulges were enough to give one pause. From his nickname, I assumed he could make his opponent cough blood and cry uncontrollably. He was only an inch or two taller than Dragon, but wider and thicker, and his hands were enormous. I had no doubt that Mace's fist would do about the same damage as a bag of bricks.

I asked that we make a stop at my apartment to pick up Rex. Ranger approved the change in plans. There was no talking on the drive across town. I didn't want to be a distraction. The men were on high alert, and so was I. I was checking every car we passed for Donaldson, just in case I was lucky enough to spot him.

We rolled into my lot, and Dragon stayed in the SUV with the motor running while Mace accompanied me upstairs. He pulled his gun and grabbed his phone, pushing me back into a corner. I couldn't even see the threat.

"Control room, this is Mace. I have Ms. Plum outside her apartment. There is a box outside the door in the hall. Please advise."

I assumed the call was routed to Tank. Mace was listening to the instructions.

"Ten four," he answered.

Mace pulled a gun from his ankle holster and handed it to me.

"Don't shoot me," he warned. No doubt he'd heard stories from the other Rangemen who had been injured while playing body guard for me.

"I've got it," I promised.

He'd handed me a compact style Glock 45. I ejected the clip, checked that it was full, shoved it back in with an audible pop, pulled back the slide and chambered a round. All the while, I held the gun safely away from Mace. Now I brought it up, holding it Charlie's Angels style, ready to go.

Mace gave a slight nod, indicating his confidence in my abilities had just moved up a notch.

"Stay here while I check it out. Don't move until I tell you. If anything happens to me, you hit the stairs. Understood?"

I nodded. "Understood."

Mace still had Tank on the phone. He approached the box. The sides of the box advertised the forty-inch television it originally contained. It was discolored from age and had seen some mileage. The top was taped shut. He flipped open a knife and slit the tape carefully. Then he pulled out a Maglite and slowly opened the box, peeking inside. Then he opened it, relaxing.

"It's just personal items," he told Tank. "Do you recognize any of this?" he asked me, holding up a sneaker and two articles of clothing.

"It's mine, from Morelli's house," I told him. He relayed the information to Tank, but motioned for me to stay put.

He carefully unpacked the box onto the hall floor, making sure there was nothing hiding beneath. More clothes. Makeup. Feminine products. A couple chick movies Joe probably didn't want to keep. A spare purse I had hauled some stuff in once. A throw pillow I liked. An open box of Tastykakes and a can of Pringles. In short, the flotsam and jetsam of my life with Morelli. Satisfied, he tossed it all back into the box and waived me over.

"All clear," he reported. Tank responded and they disconnected.

I opened the door and Mace swept my apartment in the usual Rangeman fashion. I dropped the box in my closet and grabbed the laundry basket full of dirty clothes, which was all I had right now. I tossed my makeup, blow dryer, and hair care products into my travel bag along with the wig and outfit I wore for my not-a-date with Anders, and returned to the kitchen.

Mace had Rex under one arm and was ready to go. I could see he was about to drag me physically out of the apartment, so I stopped thinking about what else I might need and just turned off the lights and went with him.

An hour later, Rex was safely on Ranger's kitchen counter, acting as if nothing had happened. I had unpacked and delivered my laundry to Ella. I was moved in with Ranger, again.

I was feeling a little flustered. What had happened to my resolve to take care of this Joyce thing all by myself, without Morelli and Ranger? Here I was, using Rangeman resources on Dickie, with Ranger telling me when and where to find Brandt. If I had thought to ask him point blank, Ranger could probably tell me what Joyce's problem was. Ranger seemed to know everything.

I took a deep breath. Get a grip, Stephanie. You're just reacting to the loss of your independence again. This wasn't the first time I'd been locked down at Rangeman. I remembered when there had been a contract out on MY life. Junkman and the Comstock Street Slayers were after me for making them look bad. Apparently some of the gang members were a little embarrassed about being hauled back to jail by a girl. I had given Ranger a lot of grief. I thought the police had captured the hitter, Junkman, and decided it was safe to leave the apartment. So I stunned Hal with his own stun gun when he tried to stop me in the parking garage, and took off. Of course, the police had arrested a decoy and Junkman caught me. Ranger didn't save the day. My friend Salvatore Sweet did, running over the entire gang with his school bus. I'll bet they never saw that coming when they dropped out. They should have stayed in school.

This was the first time, though, that I was fully aware of the part I played in Ranger's life. He wasn't really Batman. He was in grave danger. All he asked was for me to stay put, to stay safe. It wasn't asking much. But I felt powerless just waiting. My inner Wonder Woman was feeling under-utilized.

I decided not to leave the building, but told myself that I wasn't really confined to seven. It was a large building. There were plenty of people to talk to. I didn't have to sit in Ranger's empty apartment, feeling all alone. That thought helped me breathe a little easier.

I grabbed my phone out of my bag and took the elevator to five. I walked down the hall to the control room. I usually swung right through the door, but this time the door didn't open. Before I could figure it out, someone buzzed me in. I walked in and was surprised to hear the door magnetically seal behind me. Rangeman was on lockdown. I had never experienced this before.

I wasn't surprised to see Tank standing at parade rest in the center of the room surveying all the monitors dealing with Rangeman communications. Some days only half of the monitors were needed, but now, the bank of twelve monitors was manned by six men. This was aside from the stations providing security monitoring for Rangeman clients.

I walked over to Tank. If he was surprised to see me, he didn't show it.

"What's up?" I asked him, standing next to him, feet apart, my arms crossed in front of me, looking serious. I was still in uniform, Rangeman black.

Tank cut his eyes to me, but they weren't amused.

"I want to help," I told him.

I was shocked when he reported to me, as he would to Ranger, using far more than ten words.

"We've got back-up generators on-line. All personnel have been called in or put on alert. Response teams are suited up and prepping on two. Ranger and Bobby are in a van with a tech team. They're on site monitoring Donaldson's safe house. Security is tight. They tried a laser mic, but Donaldson's men have secured the windows."

"How?"

"We use small battery operated vibrators attached to suction cups in our safe houses," Tank told me. "The vibrations make it impossible to use the windows to conduct sound from within the room."

"What about this building? If Donaldson was already in town, has he been listening in on Rangeman?"

"Every window in this building is hard wired and the distorters are always on."

"Are our guys going in?" I asked.

Tank shook his head slightly. "No. We're just gathering intel."

"Then, why are the men prepping on two?"

"We're operating on the assumption that Donaldson will try to divide and conquer. He may hit multiple client accounts simultaneously. We are preparing our response."

"How many men did Donaldson bring with him?" I asked.

"Unknown."

"Where is Donaldson staying?" I was guessing he hadn't checked into the Holiday Inn.

"Country house. We can't approach without being seen. No nearby structures we can use. Guards posted outside. Motion sensors with video feeds. We can't approach from the ground. We're trying from above."

Tank pointed to a monitor. The image appeared in all green. I recognized that it was a night-vision camera. The camera appeared to be flying over a tree line.

"We're using a small drone helo."

I smiled. "You're using a model helicopter?"

Tank shot me a look. "It's not a toy. It's an effective piece of technical equipment."

Boys and their toys, I thought, but I didn't dare say it out loud. I turned back to the monitor to watch.

"It's dark outside now, so they can't see it, but can't Donaldson's men standing guard outside hear it?"

"We didn't buy it at Radio Shack," Tank answered gruffly. I was offending him with my assumption that they were MacGyvering their way through this operation. "Ranger's got the controls. We're coming in from a height of 200 feet, descending directly over the open chimney. Too close, and it'll blow ash out of the fireplace. Too high, and the wind will catch it. He's got to hold it steady. Knocking the cable around could knock loose debris and attract attention."

"Then what?"

"Watch," he said, pointing to a blank monitor along side the green picture.

Nothing happened for several minutes. I was shifting my weight from foot to foot.

"Be patient," Tank told me.

I planted my feet and stood stoically with my arms crossed again, imitating Tank.

An image began to flicker and flash on the blank monitor. There was light and shadow, some movement, and a picture began to come into focus. It was a little jerky due to the hovering of the helicopter. Then it started to settle. We were looking into a living room at a couch and end chair. There was a kitchen area behind and to the right. The picture panned towards the kitchen area. Suddenly, there was audio too. Three men were sitting at the dining table. One was Donaldson.

"How did they do that?" I asked.

"The helo is locked into position with an avionics system that uses GPS, altitude, and pitch sensors to make corrections in one thousandth of a second. It can hover on it's own, leaving Ranger free to control delivery of the optics. We lower a metal grid over the top of the open chimney. The transmitter - receiver is attached and stays outside while a reel of snaking fiber optic cable goes down the chimney."

The green image was flying again. The helo was returning to the tech van.

"What do you think, Babe?" Ranger's voice suddenly addressed me. I hadn't realized communications were on open speaker between the control room and the tech team.

"I'm impressed," I told him.

"This is as good as it's going to get," Ranger said, not sounding satisfied.

"You're in the room with them. Does it get any better?" I asked, amazed.

"We're recording," one of the men in the tech van reported.

"Donaldson should have built a fire." Tank insisted, sensing something was off. "He could be inviting us to listen to feed us false intel."

"Wouldn't he have skipped the vibrators on the windows if he wanted you to listen?"

"That would have been too easy. If we have to work to get the intel, we will be more likely to believe it and act on it," Ranger explained.

"Who are the men with Donaldson?" I asked.

"The white guy in the green camo is Markowitz. The black guy with the flat-top buzz cut is Schenker," Ranger told me.

The men were eating. They seemed completely unaware they were being watched. We listened in as they talked about their favorite restaurants, which lead to favorite hotels, which lead to happy-ending massages, followed by a dirty story about a hooker in Vegas. Three radio check-in calls later, the conversation finally turned to Rangeman.

"You shouldn't underestimate Ranger," Markowitz advised. "He's got it in for you."

"Yeah," Schenker agreed. "It's personal for him. You give him any excuse, he'll take you out."

"I'm counting on it," Donaldson said, smiling broadly.

"You shouldn't have let him know we were in town" Schenker complained. "You tipped your hand. He could have killed us this afternoon." I realized Schenker was the driver of the brown Land Cruiser.

"Not without a warning. It's not his style." Donaldson tossed the last of the fast food bags into the trash and pulled a piece of paper from his breast pocket. Unfolding it, he laid it out on the table. "Now that Ranger and I have got the pleasantries out of the way, we can get down to business," he said, grinning maliciously. The man was evil. You could see it in his eyes.

The men looked over the drawing on the table.

"Rangeman headquarters?" Markowitz frowned. "We'll lose too many men if we try to take on Rangeman as a whole. We're not getting paid for that. We should just focus on taking out Ranger. That's the deal."

"We need to provide him the perfect opportunity. But only one opportunity. We control where he must place himself in order to get to me."

"And we take him out first," Markowitz agreed.

"We need to control the situation, from what streets he turns down, to what building he selects to what window he sets up in," Donaldson explained.

"You want us to give him an opportunity to snipe you." Schenker shook his head in disbelief. "I wouldn't do it," he advised.

"He wants me bad, and he'll want to be the one to pull the trigger." Donaldson was confident. "We give him a narrow window, lead him with limited opportunities to the one place he can execute, and..."

Donaldson lit up a cigar, grinning. He blew out a line of smoke, watching it billow and roll under the overhead light. "Boom."

"Blow the room," Markowitz nodded.

"I've got 20 pounds of C-4 with Manoso's name on it."


	18. The Investor

While I appreciated being in on the intelligence gathering operation in the control room, it was boring and frightening at the same time. I didn't see anyway that I could help, so around ten thirty I went back up to seven. It didn't seem like anything was going to happen with Donaldson tonight, and I was going to need my beauty sleep if I was going after Brandt in the morning.

I woke to Ranger's bedside alarm at seven. I checked the other rooms but didn't see any sign that Ranger had returned to the apartment. I took my time in the shower, not even trying to resist using Ranger's shower gel. For a few minutes, I forgot all about the danger he was in. I forgot about Brandt and the nervous butterflies in my stomach. I forgot about the box of personal items Morelli left me. I was lost in blissful aroma therapy while steamy jets of soft water massaged all my cares away.

The overhead fan kept the mirrors from steaming up. I blow dried my hair, putting it up in the stocking cap before working the wig into place. I styled my blonde hair and applied copious amounts of makeup, including three coats of mascara, before getting dressed. I walked back and forth in front of the mirrors, practicing what I would say to Brandt, trying to get my Wonder Woman persona in gear. After some deep breathing exercises, I replayed Ranger's words of encouragement. Brandt was stupid. He married Joyce. Brandt has a serious weakness, and I just need to exploit it. "Trust me, Babe. You've got what it takes."

Before I could chicken out, I marched out of the bedroom, grabbed my bag, took the keys to Ranger's Cayenne from the silver tray in the hall, and took the elevator to five.

Apparently my altered appearance alarmed one of the men at the control desk. The elevator door opened to an armed escort. Hal and Cal had their weapons drawn.

I gave them a little finger waive. "It's just me," I said to Hal. "Who else would be on seven?" I asked.

"We had to be sure," Cal said, holstering his weapon. Hal didn't move. "It's Stephanie," he said, motioning for Hal to put his gun down.

"We had to be sure," Hal repeated.

"I get it," I told him, swinging my hips as I walked down the hall. If I could fool the control room even for a second, I could have a field day with Brandt. He wasn't even expecting me.

Tank had turned the control room over to Lester.

"Where's Ranger?" I asked.

"Still on site with the tech team."

"Nothing new?"

"We're getting a head count. Sounds like there are about 20 men in town, holed up in various locations. Intel is still coming in. We're working to tag the vehicles." Lester was focused on the job, but finally stopped talking long enough to look me up and down. "Where the hell do you think you're going?"

"I have a 9:00 stock holder's meeting with Brandt and Associates," I told him. "It was Ranger's idea."

Lester pulled out his phone and called Ranger. "Stephanie thinks she has a 9:00 appointment with Mr. Brandt. Did you approve the meet?" He listened as Ranger responded. "Yeah, she's smoking hot," he agreed. "I'll see what we can do." Ranger continued speaking for a minute. "Yeah, I know where it is." Lester smiled at whatever Ranger said next. "Okay. I'll try." And he disconnected.

"Well?" I asked.

"You're not to go alone."

"Are you going with me?" I asked hopefully.

"No, I've got the control room this morning. You can have your choice of available men." He pointed towards the schedule.

I looked around at Steroidosaurus and Halosaurus who were standing at parade rest on either side of the control room doors.

"One or two bodyguards?" I asked.

"At least one with you at all times. One can stay in the vehicle."

"I'll take Hal with me, if he can find something appropriate to wear," I said. Hal heard me and cut his eyes to me with a fearful look. "Do you have anything collegiate you could wear?" I asked Hal.

Hal looked to Cal for a translation. "Wear your black suit, light blue shirt, black socks, dress shoes, and your good watch."

"No tie," Hal insisted.

"Fine, no tie." I agreed.

"Don't bother strapping on holsters. You'll have to leave your knives and guns in the car," Lester advised. "There's a metal detector."

Hal looked disconcerted as he trundled off to get changed. Cal just looked relieved.

"That tattoo really pays off," I told him.

"You have no idea," he said, smiling.

"Come here," Lester said to me.

I followed him to what looked like a gun safe. It was bolted to the floor. He blocked my view as he dialed in the combination. He opened the door to reveal a large collection of bizarre looking knives, small caliber weapons, and other weapons that could be concealed. Lester poked around, looking for something. He fished out a silver jewelry box and opened it, checking the contents, before handing it to me.

"You can wear this. It's very unlikely security will confiscate it."

I looked down on a thick silver chain with a large silver leaf pendant. The length of the chain was adjustable. I picked it up out of the box to examine it. The leaf appeared to be split in two with a smooth, curving line down the center, one half textured and the other half smooth. It was elegant and really beautiful. Lester took it gently from my hand and demonstrated that the smooth part was a knife blade. It swung out and locked into place. The textured half was the knife handle. It just took a sharp tug to pull the knife free from the necklace. The blade was about 3" long.

"Holy cow!" I said, eyeing the weapon. "I can't use that." Just the thought of slicing into skin made me queasy, let alone stabbing someone.

Lester grinned. "Didn't think you could," he assured me. "But Hal can."

I put the necklace on. It was cold against my skin, but since I knew Ranger told Lester which one to give me, I felt a little warm. The clasp was stiff, like it had never been opened before. I wondered if it had been acquired just for me.

"You got something in here for Hal?" I asked.

"Yeah." He pulled out a large, shiny black and gold ball point pen. "I'll have to get it filled in the infirmary." He pressed the button on the end of the pen, and a needle appeared instead of a ball point pen.

"What the heck are you going to put in it?"

"Sleepy time juice."

"No. No, no, no." I shook my head vigorously. "Put it back. Either Hal or I will end up taking a nap if you give us that thing."

The door to the control room opened and Hal walked in. He was looking very GQ. I was impressed. He could easily pass for a big dumb jock in that outfit.

Lester grinned. "Okay, if you don't want it." He put it back. He pulled out a cell phone, opened it, popped in a battery, and handed it to Hal. "Stun gun," Lester said. "Press and hold the power button." He reached towards the back of the cabinet and pulled out what looked like two light-pink pearlescent plastic tampon cases glued together. "And for you," he said, handing the nasty looking thing to me. "Security won't confiscate that. They'll look the other way. And bad guys won't try to take it from you either. Hell, the bad guy won't even want to touch it," he said, grinning. "Trust me."

I looked it over. "This is a stun gun?" I asked. It looked exactly like a pair plastic tampon cases. There were two cottony strings hanging out the ends. There was a slim line of plastic connecting them, with a gray button. Two coppery prongs were sticking out the large ends. Pretty self explanatory.

"Fine, give me some batteries," I said, blowing out a sigh.

By ten to nine, Hal and Cal and I were sitting in the Cayenne in front of the Mariott.

"Okay, Hal, you're my little brother. You are a linebacker in your sophomore year at Princeton. Try to let me do all the talking, okay?"

"Okay," Hal agreed.

We walked across the parking lot and entered the Mariott. We were directed towards the large ballroom where a sign announced the Brandt and Associates Annual Stockholder Meeting. There were armed guards at the door wanding the guests. We approached the reception table.

"Name?" a silver-haired woman asked, looking down her hawkish nose at me. "Biernow. B-I-E-R-N-O-W." She looked down the list. "No," she said.

"We were invited. We're thinking of investing."

"Who invited you?" she asked.

"Joyce Barnhardt." It was a stab in the dark.

"I see." The woman didn't seem surprised, but she obviously found mention of Joyce's name irritating.

She pulled out two visitor passes and handed them to us. "Put these on." She pulled another sheet of paper from her clip board. "Biernow," she said as she wrote. "And your first name?"

"Anita," I told her. And this is my brother, Hale."

"Biernow?"

"No. I'll spell it. T-u-d-a-c-h-i-e-f. Tudachief."

"Thank you." She immediately moved on to the next guest.

We followed the line. The wand went off when it was my turn, but the guard didn't ask me to remove my necklace. He looked in my bag, but quickly closed it and handed it back to me, blushing. Hal wasn't asked to remove his watch, either. No one noticed that neither of us were carrying car keys. That should have tipped them off. Amateurs. I made a mental note for next time.

We followed the line. I ordered mocha-latte cappuccino and a Brioche for each of us and we sat at the next available table, three rows from the front. I had no idea what to expect. It looked like we were in for a boring speech and some slide shows of charts and graphs. Hal focused on sipping his cappuccino. He wasn't looking relaxed. We were smack dab in the center of the room. Not a good place to be given the heightened state of alert we were supposed be in. But I figured, why not hide in plain sight?

I was enjoying my first bite of Brioche when the chatter in the room gave way to an all-too familiar voice. I stopped chewing. I needed to look behind me without turning around. I reached down for my bag and dug out my compact. Powdering my nose, I scanned the images reflected in the small mirror. Joyce Barnhardt was being escorted out of the room by security. She was screaming that she was a shareholder and a bond enforcement agent, authorized to carry concealed. I breathed a sigh of relief.

Promptly at nine, Brandt walked on stage to the podium and welcomed us. He introduced a lot of important people in the audience, and I was surprised when I recognized a name. Jim Madison was the CFO at EE Martin. I narrowed my eyes at him as he stood and waived. Now I was focused. I didn't hear a word of what Brandt was saying. But I was watching his every move. He had a weakness for women. Scrotum and ego. Scrotum and ego. What could I say to flatter this man into telling me what I wanted to know?

Before I was ready, the lights came up and we were all scraping our chairs back. Brandt was rubbing elbows with key investors, accepting pats on the back and checks that were being slipped into his pockets.

I tossed my blonde hair back and tapped my nails on my silver leaf pendant. Kick him in the gut, don't hit him where it will show, I reminded myself.

I strutted up to Brandt with an air of entitlement. Several people made way for me. Possibly they were more focused on Hal who was right behind me. Fine by me.

"Mr. Brandt," I gushed. "It's a pleasure to meet you at last."

"The pleasure is all mine, Miss...?"

"Biernow. But we don't need to be so formal. You can call me Anita," I told him.

"Anita," he said, taking my hand in both of his. "And who is this strapping young man?"

"This is my brother, Hale."

"Your brother," he laughed politely. "How nice." And he kissed my hand. My gag reflex was automatically activated, and I put my other hand over my mouth, but I covered the retching sound with a nervous giggle.

"Hale," he said, shaking hands with Hal. Hal had his Rangeman blank face on. "Wow, that's quite a grip. Football?" Brandt asked.

Hal looked at me and I nodded for him to answer.

"Linebacker," he said."

"What school?"

"Princeton."

"I played a little football myself," he said.

"You were the quarterback, weren't you?" I gushed. "I mean, you look like a quarterback."

"I was, actually." Brandt seemed quite pleased with the compliment. "I don't recall seeing your name on our register," he said, eyeing my visitor's badge.

"We're not investors," I told him. "At least, not yet."

"We must remedy that error immediately," he said. "Tell me, what brought you to our stock holder's meeting today?"

"I know it was ages ago, but I recently heard about your involvement in the EE Martin buy-out. I hear your uncanny intuition when it comes to investments, especially navigating the intricacies of mergers and acquisitions, is unparalleled." He raised an eyebrow. "Not that I understand all that," I said, giving another nervous giggle. "But my friend told me you could make me even more rich than I am right now. And that is something I do understand."

Now I had his interest. "Who's your friend?"

"Joyce Barnhardt."

He grinned. "Joyce? I'm surprised she didn't mention you were coming."

"Me too. When did you speak with her last?"

"Wednesday. I thought she would be here this morning. She said to expect her."

I shrugged. "She's probably chasing felons," I said with an embarrassed little smile, as if I found the whole bounty hunter think distasteful.

"How do you know Joyce?" he asked.

How do I know Joyce? Think, Stephanie, think! I'm rich. I know Joyce. Joyce has money. What does Joyce buy with her money?

"We're neighbors," I said. "We jog together."

"I see," he said. "What else did she tell you about me?"

Jackpot. We've struck ego.

"She tells me the two of you were married once upon a time. I can't believe she let a handsome, successful man like you slip through her fingers," I said, taking his arm and making a point of feeling his athletic bicep. He flexed it for me, to which I responded with a girlish giggle. "I wouldn't have let you get away," I whispered, looking up at him through my lashes.

Oh my God! I was actually flirting with him. I was going to have to wash my mouth out with soap.

"I believe you wouldn't," he said. He waived over one of the wait staff. "Three Perrier," he ordered. The waiter rushed off as Brandt lead us to a nearby table. His fingers were searching my waist, presumably for a wire. My questions had him on edge. He pulled out a chair for me, taking the opportunity to look down my blouse as he leaned over me. Satisfied, he sat down on my right. Hal was on my left, eyeing the door.

"Can I ask you something?" I leaned close. "I've just been dying to know."

"Anything," he said.

"How did you know about EE Martin? Joyce seemed very proud of the scandal, but I swear, I couldn't make heads or tails of it. It all sounds very exciting, though."

"Actually, my wife brought it to me on a silver platter," he admitted.

"Your wife? You mean, Joyce?"

He nodded.

"Well, no wonder she goes on about it," I laughed. "She does like to toot her own horn."

"That she does," he agreed.

The waiter arrived with three glasses of sparkling water. Brandt took a sip and I followed his lead. Hal didn't touch his.

"See, Joyce brought me this sweet deal. She showed me that if B&A invested in EE Martin through various stock holders, we could obtain 51% share without raising any alarms. After that, the takeover was pretty simple. Either we gained control of the company or B&A would dump the stock."

"Why did you want control of a lingerie company, of all things?" I asked, laughing. "You have a sweet tooth for nighties or something?"

"The deal did come with some unexpected perks," he admitted. "Joyce had drawers full of sexy nighties." Ick.

"Well, I know this deal seemed very important to Joyce."

"Yes. She had her heart set on the acquisition. She had big ideas about restructuring the company to increase profitability, and I wanted to encourage her. I mean, after all, she was always encouraging me."

Encouraging him to be more profitable, I was sure.

"I didn't realize Joyce knew so much about business management," I told him. "Did she major in business?"

"Joyce wasn't interested in college, but she's sharp when it comes to money. She cut 20 positions at EE Martin and re-organized the entire purchasing and distribution divisions. It was a tough sell, and management filed complaints with the FTC, but once we rolled out the compensation packages for the senior staff, they dropped the complaints."

"You mean, they dropped the complaints rather than lose their jobs?"

Brandt didn't say it in words, but his sly smile confirmed my suspicions.

"I noticed Jim Madison when you introduced him. I guess there are no hard feelings."

"Jim? He's great. Couldn't have done it without him."

"And did the business become more profitable after the re-org?" I asked.

"Oh, yeah. Properly motivated, EE Martin employees fearing for their jobs pulled out all the stops. They worked over-time and weekends. Most of it was salaried, so it didn't cost us anything. We showed a 35% increase in profitability in the first six months, and 47% by the end of the fiscal year. Very impressive results."

"I should say so," I batted my eyelashes at him. "Tell me the truth. If I turn control of my considerable investment portfolio over to you, what will you do with it that an ordinary brokerage house can't do?"

"How considerable?" he asked?

"I only have control of two hundred thousand," I told him, indicating there was more.

Brandt gave me a sly smile. "I'll make you a millionaire by the time you're twenty five," he promised.

Fat chance. He was about a decade late. But I appreciated the compliment.

I grinned back at him. "That's all I wanted to hear."


	19. The Housewife

Hal and I paused in the lobby of the Mariott while he called Cal to let him know we were on our way out. Cal responded that the coast was clear.

I lead the way with Hal right behind me. Cal was half right. There was no sign of Donaldson or his goons in the parking lot. There was, however, an angry Joyce Barnhardt leaning against a dark blue Beemer. Her shiny, black Lincoln Town Car was parked three spaces over. I assumed she was waiting for Brandt.

I noticed Joyce was unusually dressed. She had been wearing her black leather and stilettos earlier, but now she was in jeans and a modest navy blue blouse with a narrow black belt. Her hair was swept up in a casual twist. Her makeup was toned down about two full shades. She actually looked...nice. Except for the death glare that seemed to be permanently etched on her face.

I glanced her way, but kept walking with my hips swinging and my nose in the air. I felt her eyeing my bag. It wasn't nearly up to code with the rest of my outfit. And when she saw the Cayenne, she sat up. I could sense her putting two and two together.

"Keep walking," I said to Hal. We passed the Cayenne, walking two rows back. I stopped in front of the passenger door of a white Mercedes convertible. "Open the door for me," I ordered. Hal's eyes were wide. "We've got to ditch Joyce," I explained. "Don't look back."

The top was down. Hal reached in to unlock the door. I half expected an alarm to go off, but nothing happened. Hal rounded the back of the car, unlocked the driver's door from the inside, opened the door, and got in. Joyce was still watching.

"Can you start this car?" I asked Hal.

He shook his head at me.

I took out my cell phone and dialed the control room.

"Rangeman," Ram answered.

"Oh, thank God. It's Stephanie."

"Are you in danger?" he asked. I could sense he was signaling for Lester.

"Not exactly. Joyce Barnhardt nearly made me in the parking lot. I'm sitting in a Mercedes convertible with Hal, but he can't hot wire it."

"Do you see anything on the dash or near the rear view mirror that says Telematics?"

"Yes," I told him, looking at a series of buttons in the dash.

"Press the information button five times fast then hold it down for three seconds and read me the number that appears. The button should be marked with an 'i'."

I pressed it and read the number.

"Joyce is heading this way," I told Ram. "Hurry!"

Ten seconds later, the car started. Joyce halted in her tracks. I ignored her, keeping my face turned to Hal. He was looking down at the steering wheel, dumbfounded.

"I activated the remote-start. Without the key, it may not let you drive it away, but it might buy you some time."

I looked up in time to see Brandt walking out with another couple. He called to Joyce, and she turned. She was waiving her arms and pointing at Brandt, apparently upset he hadn't intervened when she was ejected by security. I expected he was asking her about her friend Anita.

My view was suddenly blocked by the Cayenne as Cal backed up and pulled across in front of us. He flung open the passenger door.

"Time to go!" he yelled. I was guessing Brandt's entourage owned the white Mercedes we were sitting in.

Without missing a beat, Hal and I jumped out and scrambled into the Cayenne. Cal drove calmly but quickly out of the lot.

"That was close," I said, pulling the wig off.

"What's going on?" Ram asked. I forgot he was still on the line. I filled him in.

"Joyce just called Dickie. I can patch you in," he offered.

"Do it," I said.

"...want to know who this Anita is. I checked with the Times, and there is no story. That piece of trash you read me was never printed. Now she's sniffing around Wayne Brandt."

"Who's Wayne Brandt?" Dickie asked.

"My ex-husband," Joyce barked.

"I'm surprised you can remember all of them," Dickie fired back. "I know I can't."

"I want that bitch's number. You said you talked to her. Give it to me."

"I'll text it to you. Now get off my line," Dickie told her, disconnecting.

I heard a beep and Ram came back on the line.

"She'll be calling the disposable in a few minutes. Do you want me to patch her call through to you?"

"No. Let her leave a message," I said.

I was learning from the best. First, gather intel. Then devise a plan. Then devise a back-up plan. Then engage the enemy.

"Anything else?" Ram asked.

"Please tell me that everything I got from Brandt was recorded." I crossed my fingers and closed my eyes.

"Of course."

"Rangeman's always listening," I smiled, glad for the first time I was bugged.

"Yeah," he said.

"Don't erase it. I'm going to need it."

"Wouldn't dream of it," he assured me. "I'll transfer a copy to your phone so you can have it with you in case you need it."

"Thanks," I said, and disconnected.

"Where am I going? Back to Rangeman?" Cal asked.

"Could we possibly swing by my apartment? Morelli returned my things and I want to do the same. I just want to get it over with."

Cal nodded and turned around, heading the Cayenne towards my apartment.

Moments later, my phone chirped. I received a text message from Ram that Joyce left a threatening message and I received an audio file.

Cal circled the block, checking out my parking lot before dropping me and Hal at the front door. Cal wasn't parking. He was staying in motion. My apartment was a hot target for Donaldson. I was surprised he hadn't called this in to Lester.

Hal and I took the elevator to two and I unlocked the door to my apartment. Hal did the usual Rangeman sweep while I waited inside the door. When he gave the all clear, I went to my bedroom. I didn't need a big box for Morelli's stuff. He hardly had anything at my place. I grabbed a shoe box and tossed in a used disposable razor, a ratty toothbrush, a stick of deodorant, two pairs of sweat socks and an undershirt that I had worn home from his house, a chew toy for Bob, the box set of Rush Hour movies, and Joe's coffee mug from Atlantic City with a silhouette of a stripper on it.

I took the pad of sticky notes out of my kitchen drawer and wrote a note.

"Thanks for bringing my stuff back. I'm sorry, Joe. Wishing you all the best. Steph."

Finally, I took his key off my key-ring, tossed it in, and taped the lid to the box.

I locked up and Hal called Cal to pick us up. We wasted no time piling into the Cayenne. No sign of Donaldson.

"I just want to run by Morelli's to drop this off, and then we can go back to Rangeman," I said.

"Ten-four." Cal turned onto Hamilton and in minutes we were in the Berg. We rolled down Chambers and swung past Slater. I felt my heart slam around in my chest when I saw the black Lincoln Town Car sitting curbside in front of Morelli's house.

"What the hell?" I yelled, my head whipping around involuntarily. I knew I shouldn't care, but it just pressed all my crazy buttons.

Cal was looking at me in the rear view mirror.

"Stop, or don't stop?" he asked.

"Drive by, but don't stop," I said, rolling down my window. As we passed Morelli's house, I lobbed the shoe box out the window. I was aiming for the front yard, but the box bounced off Joyce's car, fell into the street in front of Joe's house, and the car behind us ran over it. Serves him right, I decided. I rolled up the window and sat cursing in the back seat under by breath.

"Is everything okay?" Cal asked.

"Perfect. Just perfect," I growled through clenched teeth.

"Back to Rangeman?" he asked.

"Yeah."

Before I could start my deep breathing exercises to try lowering my blood pressure, my cell phone rang. It was Lula.

"Yo," I answered.

"What's going on? I'm hearing all kinds of things, and none of it's making any sense."

I rolled my eyes. I could only imagine.

"What kind of things?"

"First off, Tank canceled on me last night. We were supposed to double with Hank and Connie. But at the last minute, he's telling me he's got official Rangeman business. And now he's not returning my calls. One day he's all lovey dovey, and the next he may as well be in outer space or something."

"There's a serious situation at Rangeman, and I know Tank's working on it," I said. "Tank loves you. As soon as it's safe, he'll call you."

"And you know this because you're shacked up with Ranger?"

"I wouldn't call it that," I said. "It's more like I'm in protective custody."

"I don't care what you call it. You could have let me know. And how come you got a free pass to all the action and I'm stuck out here in the bond's office?" Lula huffed.

"Did you ask Tank if you could join him at Rangeman?" I asked.

"Well, no," Lula admitted. "Did you have to ask?"

"I kind of let myself in," I told her.

"Well, I tried that. The doors are all locked, and it looks like nobody's home. Where the Sam Hill is everybody?"

"They're on lock down. Tank had a very good reason for cancelling," I assured her.

"Someone better be dead," she groused.

"If Tank and Ranger aren't at the top of their game, someone might be," I told her.

She paused. "Not Tank. Tell me it's not involving Tank."

"At this point, I don't think so."

"What about Joyce? Are you still working the plan? What's going on with that?"

"I just met Brandt, the investor, a few minutes ago."

"How'd that go?"

"I'm not sure yet, but I think I may have him right where I want him."

"Was he cooperative? Did he know why Joyce has a death wish?"

"I went a different way on this one."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

I filled Lula in on the morning meeting.

"So, Brandt and Joyce are still tight? That's too weird. Why'd they call it quits?"

"Good question."

"And what's this I hear about you and Morelli? You really broke it off for good this time?"

"Who told you that?"

"Tank."

"Yeah. It's over."

"Girl, it's about time you got off that train. The bridge is out. Know what I'm sayin'?"

"I know. I figured it out."

"So, is it true then? About Joyce and Morelli?"

"What about Joyce and Morelli?" I pressed my finger to my eye to stop it from twitching.

"When I called looking for you earlier, your Grandma Mazur told me that Joyce is taking cooking lessons from Joe's mom and Grandma Bella."

My heart stuttered in my chest.

"What?"

"Yeah," Lula laughed. "Joyce, in the kitchen, cooking for Morelli. Like he'd even let her in the house after she poisoned him last time." She let out a whoop. "I'm tellin' you, your Grandma's smoking something. She's been hitting the Laffy Taffy."

"I just saw Joyce's Town Car parked in front of Morelli's." I felt like all the air had been let out of me. Joyce was trying to play the part of the perfect Berg housewife, for Joe?

"Say what? What were you doing there?"

"Dropping off Joe's things."

"What did they say when you caught them in the act?"

"Nothing. We didn't stop."

"We?"

"I'm with Hal and Cal," I explained. We were just pulling into the Rangeman garage.

"Girl, I'm telling you. You made the right choice."

"Yeah. Well, I'll tell Tank to give you a call. Okay?"

"You do that," she said. And she disconnected.

I blew out a sigh. Could this day get any better?


	20. The Game

When I reached seven, I found Ranger asleep in his bed. I didn't want to wake him, but I really had to answer nature's call. I tip-toed into the bathroom and quietly shut the door. I took care of business, then flushed as quietly as possible, which meant I held my breath while I pushed the button. Then I turned off the light and slowly opened the door, peeking out to see if Ranger was still sleeping.

"Babe," he moaned.

"Go back to sleep," I whispered.

"C'mere." He said, pulling back the covers.

I couldn't tell if he was wearing anything at all, but what I could see was...WOW.

"Slip off your shoes. Take a nap with me."

Who was I to argue. I slid under the covers and Ranger pulled me into him. We were sharing his pillow, his front to my back. He was warm and relaxed from the shower. I closed my eyes, once again enveloped by Ranger and the lingering scent of Bulgari.

"Ram sent me the audio file from your meeting with Brandt," he said.

"I think it went pretty well."

"Never doubted you, Babe."

"Thanks," I said.

"Lester said you went back to your apartment."

"Just wanted to pick up a few more things," I said.

"Morelli's things." It wasn't a question.

"Joe returned my stuff. I wanted to return the favor." I was telling the truth, but I couldn't hide the hostility in my voice.

"Problem, Babe?"

"Joyce," I spat.

Ranger laughed softly into my hair.

"It's not funny," I said, getting angry.

Ranger slid back, rolling me so I was looking up at him. He caressed my face, his fingers trying to massage away the angry scowl on my face.

"Babe," he sighed. "You've got no reason to be upset."

"I know, it's over. But..."

"Shhhh." He kissed me gently. "It's not what you think," he said.

"Oh, so now you know what I think?"

He shooshed me again, and kissed me again, as if I hadn't got the message the first time. Then he placed his hand over my mouth before continuing.

"I know Morelli. He's not petty enough to do something like this to hurt you. Even now, he loves you. There is some other explanation."

"Whik fhut?" I mumbled against Ranger's palm.

"I don't know. You're the Berg expert. You'll figure it out," he said. "Right now, I need to get some sleep."

I rolled back onto my side, and Ranger relaxed against my back again, his arm tight around me.

"Proud of you, Babe," he mumbled. Then his breathing fell into a steady rhythm and I knew he was out.

I lay quietly, dozing and waking for the next few hours. Sometime while I was sleeping, Ranger slipped away. I woke alone in the late afternoon.

I was famished. I checked the fridge. The containers held super healthy greens and boiled eggs and smoked salmon. I tossed a baby carrot into Rex's cage. He didn't seem to be in the mood to eat healthy either. He went back to running on his wheel.

Ella had put my clothes away in Ranger's closet. I shucked my seduction outfit, slipped into a clean Rangeman uniform, put my wild-woman-of-Borneo hair up in a quick ponytail, and took the elevator to five. I selected a sandwich and a banana and ate at the kitchen table in the employee break room. I washed it down with a bottle of orange juice. I knew there would be no dessert on five. I wished I had thought to bring the half-box of Tastykakes with me when I stopped by my apartment.

I went down the hall to the control room. Lester was still on duty.

"What's up?" I asked, standing next to him, surveying the monitors.

Lester just smiled at me. "What's up with you?"

I gave him a questioning look.

"You really going after Joyce Barnhardt?" he asked.

"Let me guess. There's some kind of betting pool going on, right?"

"I wouldn't bet against you," he said, shaking his head and laughing a under his breath.

"I still have the necklace," I reminded him. "You want to put it back?"

"No. Keep it on," he told me.

His attention was focused on the same feed inside Donaldson's safe house we were watching the night before.

"They haven't noticed the camera?"

"No. We shut it down when they sweep the room."

"How do you turn it back on?"

"It's on a timer. Shuts down for twenty minutes, then comes back up automatically."

"Tank was worried the intel might not be good. What do you think?"

"I haven't seen anything that makes me suspicious. I think we've got them."

"Where's Ranger?"

"He and Tank are in a meeting with Ram and Silvio and some of our other tech guys. They're trying to build a digital 3-D model to analyze high-risk areas around Trenton. We have a handful of clues about the area Donaldson is planning to use as a trap. If we can narrow down the possibilities, we can start planning alternate options."

"You mean, they're trying to figure out what that one place is that they're going to lure Ranger to."

Lester nodded. "Problem is, we don't nearly have the computer capacity to run those kinds of calculations fast enough. We're running in the gray area on this one."

"What does that mean?"

"Ranger and Tank have authorized Ram and Silvio to hack into outside systems to provide the data faster."

"They're hacking into high end computer systems?"

"Yeah. It's a calculated risk, but we don't have time to ask nice."

"They could go to jail for that," I realized.

"We aren't conducting malicious tampering, and our guys will cover their tracks. Most of these elite companies can't afford to press charges. They don't want it publicized that they've been hacked. They'll just be glad nothing bad happened. The trick is picking the right companies with the right resources."

I shifted nervously.

"It'll be fine," he said, trying to reassure me. "They'll just be busy for awhile."

I nodded. "Okay. Anything I can do to help?"

"Don't leave the building, and don't go off script again."

I looked at Lester.

"You weren't clear to go back to your apartment."

"I had two bodyguards with me," I argued.

"You knew it was dangerous. Don't do it again," he told me.

"I'm sorry," I said, actually meaning it. I felt bad about risking Hal's life. Lester was right. I knew better.

Lester turned his attention back to the monitors and I started pacing.

A few minutes later, I gave up, throwing my hands up in frustration. "I just don't know what to do with myself. You can't seriously expect me to relax on seven, eating cake and watching a movie, while all this is going on. I feel useless here. Isn't there something I can do?"

"Anita Biernow," Lester said under his breath, doing a mental eye-roll.

"Oh, really? You want me to go out and get you one?" I may have been respecting Ranger's authority in front of his men, but I had no qualms about blasting Lester.

Lester grinned. "No, Anita. I want you to stay here."

"Oh, so you're giving me grief about the names."

"Hale Tudachief?"

"I needed something I could remember."

Lester grinned. "That explains it."

"Lester, do you think Lula's in danger?"

"From Donaldson?"

"Yeah."

"Tank doesn't seem to think so."

"Ranger won't let me out the front door without armed guards. But Lula's out there unprotected."

"Have you met Lula? She doesn't need protection."

"What are you saying?"

"She's a big woman. It would take two or three guys to move her, let alone subdue her. She's trigger happy. She's got lungs on her like an opera singer. And she's totally uninhibited when it comes to making a scene."

I stood fists on hips and narrowed my eyes at him. "And I'm an easy target?"

"You don't have the weight or the speed or the strength to get away. Your gun is usually at home in your cookie jar and even if you have it, it's not loaded. You are more likely to swing your purse and just piss the guy off. You hesitate to scream until it's too late to be effective. And you don't like to make a scene because you're worried your mother will find out you were spotted some place you shouldn't have been."

"You're saying I'm inhibited?"

"Yes," he said. "I didn't say it was a bad thing. I'm just saying, it tends to get you abducted." He turned to one of the men on the monitors. "Go back to camera four. Let's stay on that for a while."

"I'll be on seven," I told him with a frown.

"Steph, you want to help?"

"Yeah," I said, impatiently, tapping my foot, eyebrows raised.

"If you want to prove me wrong, we could use you down on two, in training room C. Caesar can show you what to do."

"Fine," I said, marching out of the control room to the elevator.

I pressed two. I really hadn't been on two past the first door on the left, which was a conference room marked A. I passed a tactical briefing going on in room B, giving a little finger wave to the men inside as I passed. They all looked surprised to see me. Door C was at the end of the hall. There was no window. I tried the knob. Locked. I tried knocking.

Caesar opened the door for me. I had worked with Caesar a few times when I needed money. He was a systems designer. Ranger would pay me for my opinion as a woman on the security set up for families. He felt I could spot issues with the system design that might make a woman feel uncomfortable and could identify areas of the home where she would feel most vulnerable. I knew a lot about fear and feeling deprived of a sense of privacy, and it was a difficult job balancing out those needs.

I walked into a large gymnasium filled with strange looking construction materials. There were partial brick walls of various heights and dimensions covered with graffiti, various types of fences and barricades, concrete ramps, wooden boxes, and metal railings. These items were helter-skelter across the floor or secured to the walls. Rangemen were running, jumping, ducking under or climbing over these obstacles.

"What is all this about?" I asked Caesar. "Some kind of obstacle course?"

"You've heard of Laser Tag?" he asked.

"Sure," I said. "Is that how you guys train? Playing Laser Tag?"

"No, for shoot-em-up weapons training, we usually go out on the paintball range. This is called Taser Tag."

I watched as Hector raced after Binkie with a taser in his hand. Binkie was running and leaping and evading for all he was worth. Hector pressed the button, and two prongs shot out just as Binkie flung himself down on the ground, sliding under a split rail fence supported by cinder blocks. Hector missed, but Binkie didn't. He had rolled on his back and caught Hector in mid-leap. The taser sparked blue and we could hear the sound of electricity as Hector fell hard on the mats. His whole body seemed to be vibrating, but he didn't get up.

"We also practice stun gun techniques," he said, pointing to a clear cylindrical enclosure. "It can be difficult to stun gun your opponent face-to-face without getting stunned yourself," Caesar explained.

Inside the enclosure, Roy was engaged in what amounted to hand to hand combat with Woody. They wrestled and broke apart, circled each other, and then tried again to get a clear shot at the other guy. Roy finally got pissed enough he didn't care. He reached out and grab Woody, pressing the prongs against his neck. Woody knew it was coming and grabbed Roy by the throat. The voltage passed through Woody and into Roy. They both went down in a heap, twitching and drooling, their eyes rolled back in their heads. It looked like Woody might have wet himself.

"That's attractive," I said sarcastically.

"Lester said you were here to help," he said, smiling at me like a cat who's just been offered a mouse to play with.

"Been there, done that," I told him, marching towards the door. I'd been stunned so many times I figured once more and I'd never have to shave my legs again.

"Wha', 'choo ain' got what it takes, white girl?" Caesar challenged me in his ghetto voice. I turned to him, he was doing the gang style gesturing that translated, "bring it on." He was backing onto the practice area, waiting for me.

I narrowed my eyes at him.

Caesar reached over his back and, grabbing his shirt collar, pulled his shirt off and tossed it aside, revealing his gang tattoos. "I'll make it easy on you, little girl. Come on. Hit me." He continued with the taunting gestures, dancing around, posturing.

Caesar was about six years younger than me, and he was slim compared to most of Ranger's men. This gave him the appearance of having long limbs. He looked like a runner. He was about 5'9", Latino with light brown skin, dark brown eyes lined by thick lashes, and straight black hair.

I hate to say I respond to this kind of pressure, but my hand was reaching out for the taser that was displaying a green light on the charger beside me. Caesar didn't even have a taser. He grinned at me and took off, and I was after him.

It only took about thirty seconds for me to realize that my chances of catching Caesar were slim to none. He was literally running circles around me. After two or three minutes, I was bent over gasping, clutching a stitch in my side. When I sat down on the floor with my legs out in front of me, Caesar gave up the dancing and walked over to me.

"Girl," he said shaking his head at me. "That was just sad."

"Gotcha," I said, aiming and pressing the button. I caught Caesar in his left pec.

"Now you're dancing," I told him as he jerked, fell to his knees, and did a face plant onto the floor.

"Damn!" Binkie said. "That was cold blooded!"

Hector said something in Spanish. He was still recovering, but he was grinning at me.

"Hector says, 'That's real world, Baby.'," Binkie translated.

Caesar just moaned, rubbing his face into the floor mat.

"You better get out of here before he comes to his senses," Binkie told me, taking the taser from me and bending down to work the little hooks out of Caesar's chest.

Hector gave me a hand up and bumped fists with me, giving me a nod.

"I know. It works," I said, giving him a palms up and a shrug.

"Si," he said, motioning for me to look behind me.

I glanced over at the plexiglass cage just in time to see Woody stun Roy on the back of the calf from a sitting position. I had to smile.

"Glad I could help," I told Hector as I headed for the door.


	21. The Dare

I was channel surfing an hour later when Ranger called.

"Yo," I answered.

"Yo, yourself"

"Everything going okay?"

"As well as can be expected."

"And that mean what?"

"Donaldson is meeting with Lye tonight. We're working to be a fly on the wall."

"Do you need me?" I was thinking, to be a distraction or to slip a bug into their pockets?

"No." Ranger slapped that idea right out of the air.

"Wow." I may have sounded a little disappointed.

"I heard you want to help," he told me. "Yes, you can help. No, not with that."

"With what then?"

"Put me on speaker. I'm sending you some photos. Tell me if you recognize any of these men."

I pressed the speaker button, and received a message. I opened the file, and scrolled through the photos.

The photos were taken from a distance, zoomed in with a good resolution that let me zoom in even more. I could probably check out the tiny red veins in their eyes if I wanted to. These men looked a lot like Rangemen, but there was a difference. It wasn't physical or the uniform. It was something in their attitude. Rangemen could be menacing and scary as hell, but none of them were bad guys. It was part of the job. Not that all of them were pussy cats when you got to know them. There were a few with no sense of humor at all. But Donaldson's guys didn't seem to share a sense of comradery. I didn't get a warm fuzzy feeling, even when they were standing watch together, seeming to be alone. The feeling I got was that Donaldson's men wouldn't care if the guy next to them got his guts blown out as long as the body parts didn't get in his way.

I scrolled through the photos, and came to a screeching halt.

"Bernard Gross!"

He was looking away from the camera and he was behind a parked car, but I knew the profile and the no-neck barrel-body. I looked again. Yep, it was Bernard Gross alright. He was a contender for the World's Strongest Man competition at one time. He went FTA on a domestic dispute and tossed my car on it's roof like it was a turtle. Like a very small turtle. Ranger and I later found out that Dickie had represented Gross in his subsequent divorce. Dickie, being the sensitive, caring person that he is, made a reference to Gross's steroid-related condition, gynecomastia, as being a possible cause for the divorce. Upon hearing the words "man boobs", Gross destroyed the conference room and that pretty effectively terminated Dickie's involvement in the case.

"I thought so too," Ranger said.

"What is Gross doing working for Donaldson? I figured all of his guys were from out of town."

"Gross may be working as an inside man. At least, as inside as Donaldson can get."

"What do you mean, inside?"

"A lot of my guys know Gross. They worked out at the same gyms and some of them looked up to him while he was training for the title."

"Which means he can ID a lot of your guys," I followed. "Or try to pump them for information."

"Yeah."

"And?" I sensed there was more.

"And I turned him down for a position with Rangeman."

"Because of the steroid-induced rage issues," I assumed.

"Yeah." Ranger is very rarely intimidated by anyone, but it might take an elephant gun to bring down a guy as big as Bernard Gross. And even then, it would take several well-placed rounds.

"So, he's got motive to help Donaldson take you out," I gathered.

"I think that's a safe bet."

"Is Tank with you?"

"Not right now. Why?"

"He needs to call Lula."

"He did."

"When he cancelled their date?"

"Yeah."

"He needs to call her again. And don't bother asking me why. You know why."

"I told you before. I'm not involved."

"You remember that time you filled in for Morelli and had dinner at my parent's?"

"Don't."

"You made me promise not to tell Tank."

"You remember what I told you I would do?"

"Yeah." He had threatened to chain me naked to the traffic light at Hamilton and Broad. "But you also promised to shoot my Grandma if she grabbed you."

"Babe," he groaned. Maybe I was making him queasy. He didn't like to talk about Grandma.

"I'm just saying, I think it was a hollow threat."

"You want to find out?"

"Yeah." I pretty much just double dog dared him. "You tell Tank to call Lula, or I'll tell Tank you've had dinner with my family. And I have witnesses."

"That's harsh."

"Speaking of harsh, did Dickie get the suit against Tank and Rangeman dropped?"

"Yeah. You know why?"

"Yeah, I know why. I was listening."

"Then hear this, Babe. I can be very, very persuasive."

"Great! Time to persuade Tank!"

"Babe," he said in his threatening tone. I wasn't really feeling it though.

"Later," I said cheerfully, and I disconnected.

I tossed the phone aside, turned off the television, and stretched. It didn't sound like Ranger would be back anytime soon. I decided that if I couldn't help Ranger, I may as well work on my own case.

I pulled out the ex-husband info and took a look at the photos of husband number four. Grant Lawrence was vain. I mean, possibly even more vain than Wayne Brandt. Some guys are just born with good looks, but other's buy them. Lawrence had some high-dollar hair. I was going to bet it had been sewn on. His smile was too perfect to be real. His rugged chin and the tightly stretched skin around his eyes and forehead suggested he'd had a little enhancement. His body looked like it had been sculpted by a personal trainer for most of his 50-some years, and he kept regular tanning bed appointments. But at this point, he was beginning to lose the battle. He was looking more stringy than beefy, like my mom's roast when I'm five minutes late for dinner, and his skin was creasing around his neck. And, like all men as they age, his ears were getting bigger Another 20 years, and they'd have Dumbo potential.

Just like with Brandt, I was having nervous butterflies about meeting Lawrence. I considered using my Anita Biernow disguise one more time, but then reconsidered. What if Joyce got wise and called to warn him? I could be walking into an ambush. Yikes.

I went to the bedroom and lay spread eagle on the bed in my thinking position. I had counted sixty two made-up constellations in the glitter of the sprayed ceiling when Lula called.

"Yo," I answered.

"Yo, yourself. You really threatened Batman?"

I blew out a laugh. "Yeah."

"Girlfriend, I don't know whether to hug you or knock some sense into you."

"What did Tank say?"

"He says he's busy and he'll call when he's done."

"Big surprise there."

"Is there any special reason why I should be carrying around a handcuff key for a meeting at Hamilton and Broad?"

I sucked in some air and broke out into a nervous sweat. "Did Tank mention any special time?"

"No. He said someone would call me."

"Oh," I said. "I think you should do what he said," I told her. "Keep the key handy and your phone charged up."

"Why? You gonna need it?"

"Quite possibly," I said, my hand holding the phone was shaking, so I put Lula on speaker and laid the phone down.

Note to self. Don't undermine Ranger's authority with his men...including Tank.

"Are you okay?" Lula wanted to know. "You sound like you're working out or something. Hey, you're not with Batman are you?"

"No. He's not here. I'm just thinking about husband number four."

"You need some help?"

"Maybe. Joyce is aware something's up. I think she might have called ahead to warn him."

"If she's warned him, how are you gonna ask him about Joyce and get away with it?"

"I don't know," I admitted. "I guess I'll just have to risk it."

"Hmph. Not a good plan," Lula said. "What happened to those master plans you used to come up with?"

"Masterson," I gasped. "What's going on with Masterson?"

"Masterson? Who said anything about Masterson?"

"I forgot all about Vinnie's high dollar skip. Has Joyce found Masterson yet?"

"As far as I know, she's working on Morelli's case almost exclusively. Vinnie's fit to be tied. A few more days, he's out half a mil, and Harry's going to end Vinnie." Lula laughed. "You may not have shot him, but you still might have killed him."

I groaned. Vinnie was a slimey rat, and a no-good human being, but he was still my cousin.

"Grrr!" I squelched a scream.

"What's that?" Lula asked. "Is that the sound of you caving? You really gonna help that little weasel?"

"If I don't, a lot of other lives will be affected, including yours. You'll be out a job too, remember?"

"Oh yeah. I always forget that part."

"Can you get me a copy of the Masterson file from Connie?"

"I guess, but what good will it do? Unless Vinnie approves you to work the case, you can't bring Masterson in."

"No, but I can make Vinnie jump through hoops to find out where Masterson is hiding," I said. "Maybe he knows something about Joyce's murky past."

"That's true. Good thinking."

"And don't worry about Tank," I told her. "He'll call."

"Yeah," Lula said. There was a guilty pause. "You know, I probably shouldn't tell you this, since you made a nice clean break with Morelli and all."

"But?"

"Word is your Grandma Mazur got into a fist fight with Morelli's Grandma Bella at the Ollie Weinhart viewing. Details are sketchy, but Bella accused your granny of slander when she called Joyce a man-eating slut. I guess Bella was the one who decided cooking lessons at Morelli's would be a good idea. I don't know if she even realizes she's dealing with Joyce. Bella's old and probly she can't see real good. And from what I hear, Joyce was dressed like a librarian. Anyway, I guess Bella didn't check with Morelli first, 'cause he wasn't even there when you drove by. It was just Joyce and Bella in his house, making spaghetti and meatballs."

I pressed my finger against my eye twitch.

"Good to know," I said. "Well, gotta go. I'll call you tomorrow."

"OK, well, thanks again," Lula said, and we disconnected.

I fell back into my thinking position and blew out a nervous sigh. I was debating whether or not I should shave my legs in case I woke up naked on Hamilton and Broad, since clean underwear wasn't going to be an issue. I wondered what my mother would say. But I knew the answer.

"Why me?"


	22. The Match

I looked over at Ranger's bedside clock. It was only 8:00, early on a Saturday night.

I had Lawrence's address. I had several changes of clean clothes. I had the element of surprise. He would expect me to approach him at the office. What if I surprised him out on the town. Surely, a single man like Lawrence was going to be on the prowl tonight.

I picked out a business casual outfit, a dance club outfit, and a distraction outfit. Ok, so the last two were interchangeable. I also had flats, and heels. I showered and put up on basic makeup. I left my hair in waves, pinning it up loosely, allowing it to dry on it's own. I tossed my makeup bag in the bottom of the garment bag along with the shoes. I grabbed my bag and the keys to the Cayenne and headed down to five, still wearing my Rangeman uniform.

Lester saw me coming. I could tell he was bracing for an argument.

"Where do you think you're going?" he asked, feet apart, arms crossed like a human roadblock.

"I'm going after husband number four, Grant Lawrence. I have his address. I want to follow him and figure out a way to talk to him when he's least suspecting."

"What's the address?" Lester asked.

"It's in Windsor Estates."

"Here are the rules, Steph. You take two men who are fresh on duty. You go straight to Windsor Estates. No shopping. No side trips. You follow your man at a discrete distance. If you have to change," he said, eyeing my garment bag, you will do so with one of your escorts standing at the door of an indoor restroom in a well-lit public establishment. Or, better yet, you change inside the vehicle. You do not go anywhere without at least one escort. You call me before you get out of the vehicle. You have at least one transmitter on you at all times. You do not take that necklace off. And you call me when you are on your way back. Again, no stops, no shopping, no side trips. No McDonald's unless you clear it with me first. Got it?"

"Aye, aye, sir." I snapped him a salute.

"Not kidding," he growled.

"I know you're not kidding. Sheesh! But you don't have to treat me like a dim-wit. I get it. Big danger. Be careful."

"Steph," Lester sighed. "Do you understand what Ranger would do to me if something happened to you? If I had any brains at all, I'd chain you to the toilet on seven."

"So, you're trusting me?"

"I'm trusting you big time. And right now, I'm starting to regret giving Tank so much grief for being over-protective of you."

"Walking a mile in Tank's shoes?" I smiled.

"Yeah."

"Pretty big shoes," I teased.

"Huge." He wasn't kidding.

Lester grabbed the nearest monitor and brought up the schedule.

"You're taking Zero and Manny."

"I thought I got to choose."

"That's all I've got fresh. They're on two. I'll have them meet you in the garage."

There was a beeping, and Vince called out to Lester. "Got another one, Sir."

"Wait," Lester told me. "Where?" he asked Vince.

"5624 Campbell Drive. Residential. Single family. Attached garage. Breach on second floor window, east side."

Lester started typing into a response system, alerting the Rangeman team on stand-by on two. There was a rumbling sound. It was ten large men hitting the stairs all at once, headed for the garage.

"Mrs. Grayden, this is Rangeman Security. Your safe word is Raspberry. Can you give me your response password please? Thank you. We have an indication of a breach at your residence. We are enroute. Please stay calm. Are you alone in the house? You are alone," Vince confirmed with a nod to Lester. "Can you take this phone with you to your safe room? Do it now."

"Estimated time of arrival, seven minutes," Lester told Vince. Vince relayed the information to the client.

Lester was watching the monitor showing four Rangeman vehicles speeding away from Rangeman in opposite directions. This made no sense to me, but I assumed it was part of the tactical plan Lester was telling me about earlier.

There was another beeping sound.

"Get it," Lester called out.

Slick was dialing while he was calling out details of another break in. Lester was watching a monitor with two red flashing dots with a broken window and three fire icons flashing. He typed something into the system, and one of the vehicles re-routed.

"Slick, estimated time of arrival three minutes," Lester said.

"Is this what you expected?" I asked. I was shocked by what had been going on in the last hour or so.

"Yeah. Donaldson is testing our response times and checking our guys out."

"But you can't fail to respond."

"No, we can't. And we won't."

"You need all your men. This can wait," I said.

"No, it's probably the best time. Tomorrow our men are going to be tired. Tonight, they're pumped and if you get into trouble, we've probably got a team five minutes away. Donaldson will be watching the vehicles leave the building. Make sure you shake your tail first."

"Ten four," I said, actually serious. "Thanks, Les."

"Don't thank me yet."

Another alarm went off, so I headed for the elevator. I was afraid I might get trampled on the stairs.

Manny and Zero were waiting for me behind the Cayenne. I handed Manny the keys. Zero opened the passenger door for me, taking the garment bag. He hung it on the hook behind Manny and took his seat, buckling up.

Zero was one of the quiet ones. He was plainly handsome, mid-twenties, beautiful light skin, very short hair just this side of a shaved head. Tonight he was wearing a black knit cap. He would habitually tug it down on his head, and when he did, the tattoo on the underside of his arm was visible. It was a gorgeous tropical songbird, upside right when you faced him. Normally, with his arm down, the bird would be upside down against his ribs. I always wondered how much thought these guys put into their tattoos. I guess I figured they were all drunk stupid at the time. At least, for Cal with the skull tattoo on his forehead, I was pretty sure that was what happened. But that wasn't the case with Zero. He had the most beautiful and well-thought-out tattoos I had ever seen. If he were trying to intimidate on the mats, only his street style tats could be seen on his outer arms. If he were reclining with his hands behind his head, like in bed with a girl, only his colorful, handsome tattoos could be seen. I could only imagine what was painted on the rest of him.

Manny was also Latino and light skinned, but mid-to-late thirties. He had a thin mustache that was very Latino, and side burns. His look leaned more toward cowboy than ghetto. He wore long-sleeved shirts pushed up to his elbows more often than he wore t-shirts. His medium-brown hair was tucked behind his ears, and the ends were just past his collar. He was slightly more Antonio Banderas than the other guys, with tired lines beneath his eyes that gave him a rugged character.

So, I had two handsome men with me tonight, neither of whom looked like a "saurus" of any kind.

We pulled out of the garage, and turned left. The windows were tinted, so Zero could look freely around. Three blocks down, he had spotted our tail.

"GMC Sierra."

"I see it," Manny answered.

Zero pulled his Glock and chambered a round. That's when I realized I hadn't brought a gun. I felt completely ashamed of myself. I was a disgrace to the Rangeman uniform. Ok, I was an honorary disgrace, but still.

"What?" Zero asked. I was staring at him, probably with my mouth open, mentally cursing myself.

"I forgot my gun," I told him.

"There's one under your seat," he said, looking back out the rear window.

"Not now," Manny warned. "Sit up and tighten your seat belt."

We ran a red light and started zigging and zagging down side streets, alleyways, and yes, through someone's yard. We came to a halt in a dark parking lot and waited five minutes in tense silence, each of us scanning and seeing no movement.

"Did we lose them?" I finally asked.

"Looks like it," Manny answered, turning the key and pulling out of the lot.

I called Lester just to tell him we were on our way.

Twenty minutes later, we pulled up in front of Grant Lawrence's house. I expected bigger, but then I remembered that Joyce had tried to clean him out, and he was still recovering. It was red brick with white trim and fancy panes of glass. According to the real estate sheet Connie provided, the house had five bedrooms, three and a half baths on two floors plus a full basement, and a three car garage. With the indoor pool, it was worth about a million. Life was hard for Grant Lawrence, I thought sarcastically. I just felt sorry for his maid.

I could see movement in one of the upstairs bedrooms. Zero had located a pair of binoculars. He had a look and then handed them to me.

"Please tell me he's dressed," I said, before raising the binoculars.

"He's dressed to go out."

I tried to look, but I couldn't get the focus to work. Then I'd squeeze too hard and pinch my nose. By the time I got the eye pieces spread to where I could see one image instead of two, I had bumped the focus again. I sighed and handed the dang thing back to Zero.

"These are too big for me. Just tell me when he's leaving, okay?"

"Yes, ma'am," Zero said. He didn't smile. Not much registered on Zero's face or in his eyes. But his still waters ran deep.

About 9:30 we pulled out behind Lawrence's silver Mercedes. I called Lester to tell him we were okay and on the move. I received a warning not to follow him anywhere near Stark Street. I gave Lester a ten-four and disconnected.

Zero was constantly checking our tail while Manny was keeping his distance. We were headed uptown. When Lawrence parked in a garage, we waited on the street to see where he was going. He pushed through the door of a restaurant advertising "Speed Dating, Saturday Nites, Ten O'Clock to Midnight."

Manny looked over at me, his eyes asking what I wanted to do.

"We need to park and I need to change," I told him.

We parked one level up in the same parking garage. I switched seats with Zero and both men were on their best behavior while I changed. They had seen it all before. Not mine, but curiosity was no longer a factor. I pumped up my makeup, finishing with two more coats of mascara, put on the pumps I brought, and was ready to go. Zero got out first, scanning the parking garage before helping me out. Manny followed. Apparently, we were all going.

Zero had slipped his knit cap into the side pocket of his cargos. He looked different without it. Sort of more poet than warrior. Manny had taken off his big rings and slipped them into his pockets. He also looked less menacing without his silver knuckles. He slipped the knife off his belt and tucked it into his boot. Much better.

We walked down the street together, with me in the middle. Zero opened the door for me, and we all filed in as if we were strangers who just happened to arrive at the same time.

I lead the way, checking in with the girl at the information table. Manny pretended to be a regular guest there for a meal. He took a table where he could watch both the door and the tables set up for Speed Dating. Zero signed up for Speed Dating too. He didn't seem nervous about it. He didn't seem excited about it. He was a hard man to read. Even harder than Ranger, because I didn't know Zero at all.

I was shocked at the price. It was a hundred dollars to participate. I had no dollars. Without missing a beat, Zero handed over a Rangeman credit card and paid for both of us.

"I know," I groaned, rolling my eyes. "Entertainment."

Zero shook his head. "Recon."

"Ranger has a line item on his budget for reconnaissance?" I asked.

"I'm sure the accountant calls it something else, but yes," he said, pocketing the receipt. "I'll add it to my month end expense report." He was serious.

Zero went across the room to stand with the men who were receiving their instructions. I stood with the women. The women were seated at the tables, which were arranged in a circle, women on the inside. Each table had a placard with a number on it. Then the men would pick a number out of a hat and would go to that table to start. We would have five minutes to talk, then a bell would ring and the men would all move down one table, and this was repeated until each woman had talked to each man for five minutes. We were to mark on a card which men we were interested in seeing again, and they did the same. The cards compared by computer and each person was given a list of phone numbers of their matches.

I was pretty nervous. For the next hour, I was going to be flirting with ten strangers. Well, nine strangers and Zero, while Manny was watching.

Focus, Steph, I told myself. Think about Joyce. Think about what Joyce got this leach to do to your driving history. Think about all those piece of crap cars that had gone to car heaven. The PIG car. The squirrel bomb. The Zook-mobile. The cars with holes in the floorboards, doors that didn't open, windows that were stuck. Cars that smelled like pot. Think about that.

"Uh, are you okay?" my first date asked me. I hadn't heard the bell ring.

"Oh, I'm sorry," I said. "I'm a little nervous."

"That's okay. You'll get the hang of it," he assured me. "I'm Brent."

Crap! A name! I didn't have a name! Think, think, think. Something I can remember. I am going to catch Lawrence. He's going to buy this act hook, line and sinker. Like a fish. In a fish net. I'm going to be a fisher. Fisher. Good. Can't use Anita if Joyce called. Anita. Ann. A net.

"I'm Annette...Fisher," I said, smiling at him nervously.

"Glad to meet you, Annette," he said, caressing my fingers.

Okay, creepy. We weren't anywhere close to connecting. This guy was totally on the make. Five minutes later, big fat NO on that guy.

A fat guy, a nerd, and a tax accountant later, and I was face to face with Grant Lawrence.

"Hi. I'm Grant," he said, flashing me his ultra-white smile.

"Annette," I said.

"What do you do, Annette?"

"I'm a flight attendant," I told him. Bingo. I could see the interest in his eyes.

"Really. That's exciting. You like to travel then?"

"Yeah, love it. I never get to stay in one place very long, but sometimes I get a day off to take in the sights."

"What's your favorite place to visit?"

"I guess Hawaii. I know it sounds lame, but I feel safer in the states."

"I saw Brokedown Palace too," he said, winking at me.

"No kidding. That movie gave me nightmares for a year," I said. "That kind of thing really happens."

"I know. I sell insurance, including travel insurance."

"Really?" Now I wasn't sure if he was interested in a one night stand or selling me a policy. "Can you fix me up with a get-out-of-jail-free card?" I teased.

"Not quite," he admitted.

"Do you live here in Trenton?" I asked.

"Yeah. You?"

"My folks live here. I don't know that I really live anywhere. Just out of my suitcase."

"You're a free spirit," he said.

Time was running out. I had to get to the point, and fast.

"Can I ask you something really personal?"

He looked surprised. "Okay."

"Are you married?"

He smiled. "No, but I can imagine why you ask that up front."

"It saves time." I bit my lip, but decided to press on. "Have you ever been married?"

"I've been married three times," he said, nodding.

"Are you looking to marry again?"

"Never again," he said, shaking his head vigorously. "Especially after that last one."

"Why? What happened."

He looked at me suspiciously. Gears were clicking into place in his head. Joyce did call him.

"Just not the marrying kind?" I asked. "Me either." I tried to keep the conversation going.

"Guess not." He was withdrawing, pulling back in his seat.

"You look like you're a rich, handsome man. Women must throw themselves at you all the time. What are you doing Speed Dating?"

"Can I ask you a personal question, Anita?"

"Sure," I said.

"Why are you stalking my ex-wife's ex-husbands? Anita?"

My eyes grew wide. Damn.

"Look, you have no idea what Joyce has done to me," I started, trying to explain.

"No, _you_ have no idea what Joyce has done to _me_," he bellowed, getting up from his seat and causing a scene. "She called me earlier today, telling me to expect you. And here you are. Guess she was telling the truth for once."

"I just want to find out why Joyce has it in for me," I pleaded.

"Yeah? Well, get in line. You're not the only one she's abused without giving a reason." With that, he reached out and grabbed my bag. Yanking it open, he snagged my wallet. Before Zero could retrieve it, Lawrence got to my driver's license. "Stephanie Plum!" he gasped in surprise. "You're Stephanie Plum?"

For once, I was glad I forgot to bring a gun. I hadn't remembered to retrieve the gun under the passenger seat of the Cayenne. If I had, I would most likely be looking up the barrel right now.

"Please, do not tell Joyce I'm Anita. Please!"

"Yeah, right. I want that bitch off my back. And now that I think of it, she cut me loose once I had you blacklisted on full coverage insurance. Why that public safety campaign was so important to her, I'll never know, but with the burn path you left behind, I could understand it at the time."

"Mr. Lawrence, you can't tell her," I said, knocking over my table trying to get to him. Zero had my bag and was pulling me back away from Lawrence. Manny left money on the table and was approaching the door.

Lawrence just gave me a mean smile and a finger waive. He was absolutely going to tell Joyce. No doubt about it.

I wanted to be scary. I wanted to make him sweat. I had to make him fear me more than he feared Joyce. There was only one woman I knew who people feared more. I didn't make a conscious decision to become Bella, but the next words out of my mouth were, "Then I curse you." I put my finger against my eye twitch and shot him my death glare. "I'll give you THE EYE!" There were gasps, and a couple girls ducked under their tables.

Lawrence just shook his head at me, as if it were sad that I was a crazy person.

Zero had me to the door, but I wasn't finished. I spread my feet and gripped the sides of the door frame. "Grant Lawrence! You are a vain man, and I will take away all that you think you are. Your hair will fall out. You will stink. You will have pimples. No one will want to touch you. No one will want to look at you. No one will want to do business with you. You will become what you fear most, a penniless, miserable, disgusting failure. Mark my words!"

At that point, Manny and Zero wrestled me through the doorway and down the street. Each had a hand on my upper arm, marching me at a brisk pace to the garage. I could hear sirens approaching. When we got to the Cayenne, Manny checked the dash light that would indicate if the undercarriage had been tampered with. Then he visually checked under the vehicle with his Maglite before we piled in.

Twenty minutes later, we were pulling in to the Rangeman garage.

"I'm really sorry," I told them for the tenth time.

"I really liked number five," Zero complained.

I unfastened my seat belt and turned around to look at him.

"The blonde with the blue top?" I asked.

"Yeah," he nodded. He looked sad.

As he moved to get out, I noticed a piece of napkin sticking out of his pants pocket, so I snagged it.

"Was her name Jennifer?" I asked.

He paused and turned to look at me. "Yeah. How'd you know that?"

I handed him the napkin with her phone number on it. She must have slipped it to him during the altercation.

"Congratulations. You're a match."


	23. The Eye

During the night, I woke to find Ranger had joined me in the bed. I was snuggled up against his chest. He was sleeping as deep as he ever does, which meant he'd wake if I tried to move. I knew he had to be exhausted. Nature was calling, but it wasn't an urgent call, so I decided to stay put. The next time I woke, Ranger was gone. It was light out. I checked the bedside clock. It was just after 7:00.

I showered and dressed in jeans and a t-shirt. It was Sunday. Connie and Lula had the day off. I didn't know where else to turn. I'd call them at home after nine.

First, time to gather intel. I took the elevator to one, and was glad to find Ram on the monitors.

"Can you help me? I want to check the messages on Anita's phone."

"Sure," Ram said, handing me a headset.

I listened as he punched up the files.

Joyce's angry voice blasted suddenly in my ear, making me jump in my seat.

"I don't know who you think you are, but let me tell you something. You're messing with the wrong bitch this time!" And she hung up.

"I have to agree with her on at least one point," I said to Ram.

He smiled his agreement at me.

"OK, next," I said, bracing for what was coming...Joyce knowing I was her stalker.

"That's it," Ram said.

"Serious?"

"Yeah."

I got up slowly, handing him back the headset. "OK, thanks."

"I'll keep the line open, then?"

"Yeah. She might call again."

He nodded and returned to his work.

I took the elevator back up to seven and dug my phone out of my bag. No messages. I called my voice mail just to be sure. Nope. no voice mail.

This could only mean one thing. Grant Lawrence hadn't called Joyce yet. Or else, he left her a voice mail and she hadn't listened to it yet. I was going with option A. Call me overly optimistic, but I figured Joyce would answer if Lawrence called.

I buzzed Ella on the intercom and fifteen minutes later, I was enjoying the most delicious French toast with raspberry sauce I had ever had. I tossed Rex some of Ranger's salad garnish and tried to watch television to take my mind off of, well, everything.

At 9:30 I dialed Lula.

"Girlfriend, it's early. What are you doing up?

"It's mid-morning, and I'm calling for reinforcements."

"Why? What's going on? Do I need to meet you at Hamilton and Broad now?"

I closed my eyes and grit my teeth as a monster of a butterfly did barrel-rolls in my stomach.

"No. I'll tell you all about it as soon as I conference in Connie. I don't want to have to tell it twice."

Moments later, I had both Lula and Connie on the phone.

"How'd you learn to do that?" Connie asked.

"What? Like I don't now how to use the phone," I said, trying to sound offended.

"Excuse me," Connie said. "To what do I owe the early morning pleasure?"

"It's mid-morning," I snapped. "Sheesh!"

"Stephanie's got issues she needs our help with," Lula told Connie.

"What kind of issues?" Connie asked. We could hear her mother humming in the background. The sound was muffled as Connie closed the bathroom door so she could hear us.

I explained about Grant Lawrence threatening to expose my cover to Joyce, and about my sudden transformation into Joe's Grandma Bella."

"Say what?" Lula gasped. Then she was laughing.

"Oh my God!" Then Connie was laughing.

"Wait, wait!" Lula panted. "I gotta sit down." And then she farted.

"Holy crap! That was a good one," Connie laughed.

Then we heard Lula fall down rather than sit down.

"You put the eye on Joyce's ex-husband!" Lula sputtered.

"That's classic!" Connie said, finally starting to come down off her hysterical high.

"Thanks for the support," I complained.

"Hey, you've had hours to digest this. We've just had seconds," Connie argued.

Lula was gasping for air. "Ok, ok. What's the plan?"

"I don't have a plan. That's the problem," I explained. "As far as I know, Lawrence hasn't had a chance to tell Joyce. I don't know why, and I don't care why. What I need to do is figure out some way to persuade him to keep his big mouth shut."

"That's easy," Connie said. "We just put THE EYE on him."

"How?" Lula asked, paying attention now.

"Easy. Ever since Stephanie got the Vordo, I've been asking around about this Sicilian voo-doo hocus pocus. It's all tricks. It's slight of hand, just like David Copperfield."

"Say what?" Lula sounded disappointed.

"Trust me. Vordo's real," I insisted.

"Being horny is real. Vordo's just a trick," Connie said. "Bella slipped you some homemade concoction of natural herbs and over the counter supplements. Basically, female Viagra."

"How would she manage to do that?"

"You were staying over at Morelli's at the time," Lula reminded me. "Bella's got a key."

"That's right," Connie agreed.

"Bella spiked your Tastykakes or your peanut butter or olives or something."

"I guess that's possible," I agreed.

"What we need to do is to put THE EYE on Grant Lawrence," Connie continued. "Tell me again what you cursed him with."

"Uh, let's see. I think I stuck to Bella's primary curses. Hair loss. Stink."

"Did you specifically say cabbage?"

"No, I just said he'd stink."

"Good. What else?"

"Pimples. Generally being disgusting to the point he'd lose business and go broke."

"OK, we can work with that," Connie said. I could hear her making a list, her pencil scratching on the note pad by her phone.

"What's the plan?" Lula asked, excited.

"I could tell you, but it would be faster to show you. Let's all meet up at the office, and we'll take one car."

"We've got to get Lawrence out of the house," Lula said.

"No problem. I'll call him pretending to be from his company's claims center reporting that a tree has fallen on a house with a reported fatality and injuries. A case like that will require his immediate personal attention, in Princeton."

"Ok. But there's another problem." I groaned. "I'm not sure I can get free."

"What's the problem?" Connie asked.

"Stephanie's on lock down at Rangeman," Lula answered.

"Don't be ridiculous. She was running around town in the middle of the night. What's the harm of meeting us at the office on Sunday morning?"

"The guys will be tired, and I'm not sure who's on duty right now."

"Well, find out and call us back, pronto. I'll be packing a bag. I'll be ready in less than an hour." And Connie disconnected.

"Don't need to ask Tank to call me. Sounds like you're in enough trouble as it is," Lula said.

"It's fine," I lied. "Call you right back." And we disconnected.

I took a deep, cleansing breath, then headed for the elevator. I hit five, and swung down the hall to the control room. I gave Ram a finger wave and he buzzed me in.

"Nothing from Joyce?" I asked.

"No."

"Thanks."

I looked around but didn't see any of the core team manning the control room. Everything seemed quiet. I went down the hall to check the offices. Tank was sitting at his desk with Ranger sitting in a wingback chair opposite. When he saw me, he slid over into the other chair so I could sit with them.

"Babe," he said in greeting. It could have meant, "good morning" or "what's up", or both.

"Hi," I said. The mental grimace I was doing clued both men in that I was about to ask for another favor.

"Going after husband number five?" Ranger asked.

"Unfortunately, I'm not quite done with husband number four yet."

Ranger raised an eyebrow.

"Connie and Lula and I are planning to meet at the bonds office. From there, we will drive over to Lawrence's house. Connie will give him a reason to visit Princeton, and we'll do something to persuade him not to tell Joyce about my investigation. Shouldn't take more than a couple hours. Be back soon," I said, patting the arms of the chair as I got up to leave.

"Sit," Ranger ordered.

Stupid Stephanie really considered blowing him off and taking her own car to the bond's office. Smart Stephanie wanted to live a little longer, and decided that irritating and already irritated Ranger wasn't the best move right now, Joyce or no Joyce.

I slowly sank back down into the seat.

"Explain," Ranger demanded.

"I just did," I told him, playing dumb.

"What are you going to do to persuade your man?"

"Uh, well, Connie was a little vague about that point of the plan," I told him.

Ranger studied me for a minute, giving me a virtual polygraph.

"I understand you put THE EYE on him."

"I don't really have THE EYE," I said.

"Am I to assume Connie is going to help you put THE EYE on him?"

"One might be able to draw that conclusion," I admitted.

"Would one care for some help this morning?" Ranger offered.

I stared at him for a beat, my mouth open slightly.

"You want to come with us?"

"Might be fun," Ranger said. He glanced at Tank.

Tank nodded. He wasn't smiling.

"What's going on?" I asked.

"Just waiting for Donaldson to make his move," Ranger said, as if they were engaged in a harmless game, like chess, instead of a serious game of LIFE.

"Shouldn't you stay here?" I asked.

"My men are on call, but resting and preparing. This may be a long dance."

"What about you? Aren't you tired?"

"I think spending a little time with you could be more refreshing that sitting here watching Tank grow gray hairs."

"Tank?" I looked to the number two man for permission to steal number one.

"Don't look at me. I'm coming with you."

I raised my eyebrows in surprise.

"Lula will be so glad to see you," I said, cracking a smile.

"Going somewhere?" Bobby asked from the doorway.

"You're in charge," Tank said, getting up from the desk.

"Seriously?" Bobby complained.

"Just for a few hours," Ranger promised.

Bobby threw his hands up. "Fine. I knew you were going to do this. I just didn't expect it so soon."

"What?" I turned to Ranger for an explanation.

"We'll be fine," he assured me.

"Maybe this isn't a good idea," I said. "What if Donaldson's men shoot you?"

"He doesn't want to shoot me. He's got plans for me," Ranger insisted. "Right now, we can't afford to show any weakness."

"Like hiding?"

"Yeah."

"If Donaldson thought Rangeman was intimidated by him, he might change his plans. But we've got plans of our own," Bobby explained.

"Like what?" I asked, curious.

"You'll see," Ranger said. "Right now, our plan is to work on your plan, Babe," Ranger said as he pushed me out the door and down the hall.

Before we made it out of the control room, Ranger opened a supply drawer and pulled out a long, thick rubber band and six large paper clips and slipped them into my front jeans pocket.

"What's that for?"

"Today, you pick your own locks."

I gave him a doubtful look as he lead the way to the stairs.

Forty minutes later, all five of us got out of the Porsche Cayenne, which Tank parked as far up Lawrence's driveway as we could go. Turned out we didn't have to lure Lawrence away. He was responding to two of the fires Donaldson set last night. We would be alerted by Rangeman personnel if he left the scene.

We followed Tank and Ranger to the back door of the house. Lawrence had a six foot privacy fence, and we were blocked from his neighbor's view by the garage.

"We can't afford to set off any alarms," I said. "Lawrence can't know we were here."

Ranger looked through the window at the control panel on the wall. "Scorpion," he sneered.

Tank scoffed. "Why'd he bother?"

"I don't get the joke," I told him.

"Look," Ranger said, making way for me to approach the door.

"Scorpion is a pain in the ass system. The idea was that even if one keypad got bypassed, the other access areas remain on alert. Setting the alarm on the door you exit doesn't set the alarm on any other door."

"What do you see?" Tank asked me.

I looked through the clear panes of the back door at the key pad. "The light is red. Solid red."

"If the alarm were on, the light would be green," Ranger told me.

"Now, you just have to pick the lock," Tank said, crossing his arms to watch.

"That'll be a first," Lula said, standing beside Tank.

"Paper clips." Ranger motioned toward my pocket.

I pulled out two of the large paper clips. Ranger slipped his fingers into my pocket and took two more. He unfolded one, then folded it in half and bent the folded end into an L shape. I copied him. Then he unfolded just the long piece of the other and bent it a little zig-zaggy with his teeth. I did the same. These were some stiff paper clips. It was hard to bend them at all.

Ranger instructed me to slip the half-bent paper clip into the bottom of the door lock, pulling with steady pressure towards the left. I moved the zig-zag piece in and out, fast, while pressing upward. It took three tries, but finally I had the door open.

"Holy cow, that was easy," I said, slipping the paper clips back into my pocket.

I carefully opened the door, but it caught on a security chain.

"Shit," I cursed under my breath.

"Rubber band and another paper clip," Ranger told me.

I fished out the items and handed them to Ranger. He looped the rubber band through the solid loop of the paper clip and then pulled the rubber band back through itself, securing the rubber band to the paper clip. Then he handed it back to me.

My heart was pounding. I had always wanted to know how Ranger got past my security chain.

"Slide your hand inside. Hook the chain with the paper clip as close to the round bit that goes into the slide. Then catch hold of the rubber band, loop it around the door nob, and close the door."

It took me several tries to use the paper clip as a hook. I had to open it to a different shape, but I got it. Then I looped the rubber band around the door nob. I was afraid it would break, it was pulled so tight. But it was thick and it held strong. When I closed the door, I felt the bit zing along the slide toward the door handle and pop out of the opening.

"I can't believe that worked," I said, wide eyed. "All this time, you've been breaking into my apartment with a rubber band and a paper clip?"

Ranger just smirked at me. "Easy, Babe."

"Since when has Ranger been breaking into your apartment, while you were in it?" Connie asked.

"Just when I'm in danger." Or asleep.

"Yeah, right," She said, giving Ranger a sly smile.

We went inside and made way for Connie and her bag of goodies.

"OK, kids. First, we need to find the master bedroom and bath."

We all traipsed upstairs. It wasn't hard to find the master bedroom. Lawrence lived alone. The other rooms were empty guest rooms.

"OK, while I'm working on the personal products, Lula, you can work on the wardrobe malfunctions."

Connie handed Lula a stitch ripper. The irony wasn't lost on Ranger, who had to pretend to be checking the front for any sign of cops.

"What do I do with this?" Lula asked.

"Loosen his pants seams in the rear. Grant Lawrence is too big for his britches, and it's about time the whole world noticed.

"Steph, you've got laundry patrol. Locate all of his tightie-whities, and make them more fashionable."

Connie handed me two bottles of yellow and brown permanent dye.

I made a disgusted face. "No way." I shook my head.

"Hey, it's up to you," she said. "But a nice set of tracks would sure set off the rear display Lula's working on for you."

I groaned, and turned to search the dresser drawers.

"Just a little dab'll do ya," she called after me.

Later, while I was doctoring the last of the underwear I found in the laundry room off the kitchen, Ranger walked in behind me with what looked like a dryer sheet in his hand.

"You here to help?" I asked.

"Cheese cloth with a dash of pepper spray," he explained. "Don't touch anything you don't have to."

He gently touched the underside of the door nob to the back door, the door to the fridge, the kitchen faucet, the cabinet doors, anywhere Lawrence was likely to touch.

"This guy's going to have a terrible allergy attack. And he's going to keep having it. He'll spread this stuff everywhere without knowing it. And when he goes for the eye drops, he's going to get distilled water mixed with a drop of pepper spray."

"What's Tank doing?"

"He's hiding shredded pieces of garlic and some kind of smelly cheese in the air vents and in the shower heater and putting some kind of bullion cubes in the shower head. Connie even mixed in garlic paste with his toothpaste and squeezed it back in the tube with a syringe. Not only will your man stink, he won't be able to smell it on himself after he's been in the house a while. Even when he does smell it, he won't be able to find it. And his aftershave is just rubbing alcohol now."

"And Connie?"

"She's adding itching powder to the shower gel and hand soap and she's replacing the deodorant stick with a soft, clear wax, so he won't have any deodorant protection. When she's done with that, she's replacing his hair gel with a mild depilatory. He may not go bald overnight, but it'll turn his hair into a brittle haystack."

"Connie's got skills," I said.

"Scary skills," Ranger agreed. "She had me permanently set Lawrence's alarm clock to 3:00 am."

"How did you do that?"

"Babe." Ranger smiled. He wasn't ready to stop being Henry Higgins.

"How," I pressed.

"Set the clock, cut a few wires. It will display that the alarm is set for 7:00 am, and he can even change it, but the alarm is only set for 3:00 am. Can't be changed. He'll be exhausted, pissed off, and late for work. After a week of this, he'll believe in THE EYE."

Connie joined us in the kitchen.

"Let's see what we've got in here," she said, opening the door to the fridge. She pulled out a caramel apple wrapped in wax paper. "Oh, yeah," she laughed, carefully unwrapping it. Ranger and I watched as Connie expertly peeled off the caramel in sections. She replaced the apple with a raw onion, and pressed the caramel back into place, replacing the stick as she admired her handiwork.

"You're a sick woman," Ranger told her with an appreciative grin.

"I'm just getting started," she said.

Lawrence had some left over Chinese cartons in the fridge too. I can't even say what Connie added because I was busy looking away, trying not to vomit while Ranger rubbed my back. Let's just say it wasn't rice.

Next, Connie took out a baggie of whitish brown powder and dumped it into a half container of powdered Mocha flavored coffee creamer. She shook it to mix it thoroughly.

"I tossed some sugar free chocolate in the blender. Those sugar alcohols work better than laxatives. I laced every roll of toilet paper in his bathroom with itching powder. And he'd better hope he doesn't get hemorrhoids, because all he's got in his medicine cabinet is cream cheese. Except his liquid heart burn medicine, which now contains some onion juice."

She pulled out another baggie filled with white powder. It was marked "hard sugar free candy". She used it to fill his sugar bowl and then mixed some in his jelly and jam, pancake syrup, pickles, anything sweet.

About the time she was done, Lula and Tank joined us. Tank handed a bottle of super glue to Connie, and she tossed it in her bag.

"We super glued tiny pieces of rough sandpaper inside his shoes where the little toe rubs," he said.

"Lawrence is going to be walking funny," Lula said with a shake of her head. "How do you think up this stuff?" she asked.

"It's a gift," Connie sighed with a shrug.


	24. The Insider

Ranger's phone buzzed and moments later we were retreating from Lawrence's house. We all went back to the bonds office and made ourselves at home.

I had known for some time that Ranger had a sense of humor, although he rarely got a chance to show it. I wasn't sure about Tank until he dubbed our little mission Operation Evil Eye. Most likely out of sheer habit, Ranger had taken the opportunity to install some listening devices he had stashed in the Cayenne for just such emergencies. He explained that he had hard wired a listening device to the electrical outlet in the master bedroom, just outside the bathroom door. This little baby was state of the art. It was a noise activated recorder, with time stamp. It recorded continuously to a file, and that file could be accessed by calling the device just like a cell phone. We could also listen live. It was multi-track and was picking up signals from the bugs Ranger planted in the entertainment room just outside his home office, recording on track two, and the kitchen, recording on track three.

In addition, Ranger had snagged Lawrence's cell phone number from his most recent bill. As soon as we heard Lawrence enter the house - and believe me, we heard him - Ranger called him as a wrong number, keeping him on just long enough for the little device to detect his cell phone frequency. Now, we could listen to any calls Lawrence made from within the house, recording on track 4.

"That man has scary skills," Connie whispered to me.

I nodded knowingly, grinning inside because when Lawrence messed with me, he was messing with both Ranger and Connie. Gotcha, Grant Lawrence.

After searching the house for the noxious odor and exhausting his impressive command of swear words, Lawrence called his housekeeper. She explained that she had Sundays off and promised she'd take care of it on Monday. He explained she would be unemployed by Monday if she didn't appear in the next hour. The maid arrived, making gagging noises. A brief fight ensued during which time Lawrence said some unkind things, after which the housekeeper allowed herself to vent several years worth of pent-up animosity before she stormed away.

Lawrence called the housekeeping agency, got voice mail, hung up, and dialed the emergency number. After a terse discussion with the owner of the company, another maid arrived at his door. Housekeeper number two very likely had just called her co-worker after the owner called her. She seemed to know what had just gone down. Lawrence returned to his home office to finish working on reports related to the fires. Housekeeper number two went to the kitchen, whispering to herself as she searched for the coffee canister. She spooned some fresh coffee grounds into a coffee cup. She was re-setting her sense of smell. Holding the coffee under her nose would prevent her from becoming accustomed to the foul odor, making it more likely she would find the source, Connie explained. Ranger nodded agreement. She was checking the obvious places like the oven, the fridge, the kitchen cabinets, the pantry. After searching for over an hour, she couldn't find the source in a logical search. She had touched the pepper spray and was feeling the burn in her eyes and nose. She was getting antsy. She called the first housekeeper from the kitchen and within minutes, she fled the scene without saying goodbye.

"I'm going in," Connie said with a grin.

"Say what?" Lula asked.

"We need someone on the inside. That's the only way to keep him from finding what we've done. It's opportunity knocking," she said.

"You can't. He's going to get crazy. Besides, you have a day job," I reminded her.

"So does he. He'll never know. Besides, I can tell him I have other clients and I'm fitting him in until we find a replacement."

"We'll get her out if she's in danger," Tank assured me.

"It'll be fun," Connie said, flouncing out of the office.

We ordered pizza. I expected the Pino's delivery boy, but the pies were delivered by Hector. He had a brief discussion with Ranger and Tank, who understood everything he said. I understood almost nothing, except "muerto". I loved The Goonies. After Ghostbusters, it was my favorite movie.

"Who's dead?" I interrupted.

The men stopped talking and looked at me.

"Are they talking about dead bodies?" Lula asked, jumping up from her seat.

"No one's dead," Tank assured her.

"No one's dead, yet," Ranger corrected.

I gave him an unsatisfied glare. "Who isn't dead yet?"

"Donaldson's man," Tank said.

I made a "keep rolling" gesture with my index finger, indicating I was expecting more of an answer.

The corner of Ranger's mouth twitched, but he answered. "Donaldson had a man on us. We had a man on Donaldson's man. Donaldson's man tried to sight me in with a long range rifle while we were on our way back from Lawrence's house. Our guy only intended to hit him in the arm to disable him, not even trying to break the bone. Donaldson's man had a shotgun shell in his breast pocket. As the bullet exited his arm, it hit the shell, and the shell exploded. No flack vest. Got him in the chest , his other arm, and the face. Our man called an ambulance. He lost a lot of blood, but it looks like he'll make it. He'll have a hard time explaining himself, though. The police will have him up on charges before he's had a chance to recover."

"So, you made another mortal enemy today," I sighed.

I had to sit down. I was trying to process too many things at once. We had been in the cross hairs of a sniper. Ranger knew we would be. Ranger trusted his men with our lives. A man was lying critically injured in a hospital bed. What did this do to Donaldson's plan?

I was pressing against Ranger's hand that he had rested on the back of my neck. My head was between my knees in my gonna-pass-out position. If I ever got over being scared, I'd probably never be this limber again, I thought. It was like doing yoga. I was good at it. I'd had a lot of practice.

"Babe," Ranger said, asking how I was doing.

"I'm okay," I said as he slowly let me up.

"We were safe," he told me.

"You said he wouldn't try to shoot you. You said he had plans for you."

"He does. That doesn't mean he wouldn't shoot at the vehicle."

"Just to say, 'Hi,'?" I asked.

"Exactly."

"Ok," I said. I trusted Ranger. But for him to risk our lives in order to save them made the danger that much more real to me.

"Do you know where Donaldson is right now?"

"Yes. And he knows where we are."

You're pretty evenly matched," I remembered him saying.

"With numbers, yes. With experience, maybe. With tactical advantage, no. With determination, no. With skill, no. I'm the best, Babe."

"I'll bet Donaldson is just as confident he's the best."

"Doesn't matter," Ranger insisted, tipping his chin up and looking down at me through narrowed eyes, giving me his old street-smart ghetto look. "He isn't."

"Why doesn't he just launch a rocket at us right now and be done with it?"

"Because there is an audience watching this game, and he can't afford to make a move like that."

"You mean, he won't get hired for other jobs if he's messy."

"Exactly. In fact, it would get him killed."

"What does your audience think about what happened today? Is Rangeman going to look bad?"

"What happened today with the shotgun shell was an accident, not a tactical error. My man had no way of seeing a shell in the shooter's breast pocket. It could have happened to anyone."

"You think Donaldson is going to stick to his original plan?"

"Yeah," Ranger said, tucking a curl behind my ear before taking my hand and pulling me up from the couch. "Come eat with us."

Connie had arrived, so we tuned in to listen. Hector stayed and had some pizza too. Tank was rattling off an explanation of what was going on in Spanish. Hector choked on a piece of mushroom while laughing.

"Shhh! Listening," I said, turning up the volume.

"Grant Lawrence," he introduced himself.

"Barbara," Connie answered.

"Can I have your time card?" he asked.

"Oh, I didn't bring one. I came straight from home," she explained.

"I think there are some extras in the kitchen desk," he said. Connie followed him through the house. "Here we are." He was filling out the form. "Barbara, what's your last name?"

"Dahl. D - A - H - L."

"OK, it's about 2:30," he said, marking the time. "The last girl couldn't find the stench. She's already checked the kitchen. Frankly, I can't stand it anymore, so I'm going out. I have a standing invitation for 3:00 racket ball with my neighbor next door. Please, for the love of God, find the source of this stench before I return."

The door closed, and Connie started talking to us from the kitchen.

"This guy's not kidding. He's dressed for racket ball. And he's not getting in the car. He's walking. And he's waiving at another guy in shorts with a gym bag walking toward the same house. I think they're actually playing racket ball at the neighbor's. I mean, who has a racket ball court inside their house?"

"Who has a pool inside their house?" I grumbled.

"Jealous?" Ranger teased.

"Just saying," I shrugged.

"I'm going to make chicken soup. Wish me luck," Connie said to us, walking out of range.

"What does that mean?" I wondered.

All I got were blank stares.

Connie was gone for quite some time. Curiosity got the better of me, and I called her cell.

"What's going on?"

"Just checking the pool filter. It seems someone added chicken bullion and onion-garlic powder where the chlorine tablets should go. This heated pool has become one large pot of soup. Uh oh, sounds like he's back." And Connie disconnected.

"Barbara, I'm back," Lawrence yelled.

"You can call me Barbie," Connie called from the kitchen area.

"I'm going upstairs for a shower."

"Ok," she called back.

Moments later Connie was giggling into the bug in the kitchen. "Good work, Steph and Lula! He totally ripped out those little shorts. And he had one hell of a Hershey mark from what I could see.

"Damn right. We ripped the hell out of his stitches. He won't have a thing to wear until he goes shopping, and he'll have to do that in his stinky old bath robe," Lula declared.

"He's taking a shower. Here we go! Thank God you're getting this!" Connie ran off to look busy, and no doubt to get closer to the bathroom door so she could hear for herself.

We didn't hear screaming. But we heard a lot of, "What the hell?" Lawrence brushed his teeth. He shaved and groaned loudly when he splashed on the rubbing alcohol. We heard the top pop as he used his deodorant. Couldn't tell about the hair gel. He dressed, and returned downstairs.

"Mr. Lawrence, I simply can't figure out...Oh, God!" Connie cried out. "What's wrong with your face?"

"I don't know. I seem to be a little blotchy," he said.

"Are you itchy?" she asked.

"Yeah. How'd you know?"

There was silence for a few moments. "I think I found the source of the odor," she reported.

"Great, what was it?"

"I don't know how to tell you this. I think it's you."

There was silence for a beat.

"Me?"

"The smell isn't in the house. It's coming from you. I'm pretty sure."

"That's impossible."

"You know what this reminds me of? One of those old fashioned Sicilian curses. You didn't get into it with an old Italian woman this week, did you?"

"No," Lawrence laugh stuck in his throat as he remembered me. "There was a young woman who put a curse on me. She said she was giving me, THE EYE."

"Did she specify what that curse meant?"

"She said I'd stink, have bad skin, my hair would fall out, and I'd lose all my money because no one would do business with me."

"There you go," Connie said, as if that explained everything. "You need to apologize to that woman. That's the only way this is going to clear up. If you don't, it'll only get worse."

Lawrence sneered. "There's no such thing as curses."

"I'm telling you, I've seen some things in my day. I wouldn't laugh if I were the one smelling like, whatever that is."

"Where are you going?" Lawrence asked.

"I've got my time card. I'm clocking out now. There's nothing to be cleaned up. I'm telling you, just apologize now, before it's too late. That's my best advice. Here's my number. Call if you need me. I have a full client list, but I'll try to work you in if you need laundry or general cleaning done this week."

"Thanks for nothing," he said haughtily, showing Connie out.

"Just apologize," Connie called back as she walked away.

"Charging me for doing nothing," he complained as he padded into the kitchen to look for something to eat. He opened the fridge and poked around. We heard him open the silverware drawer and put ice in a glass. He was eating standing at the kitchen counter.

"I think he's going for the left over Chinese," Lula said. "I guess I'd know the sound of a Chinese food carton being opened."

No argument there.

A few moments later, we heard him vomiting into the kitchen sink. This went on for about five minutes, during which time my head was between my knees as I tried not to lose my pizza.

"No way. I just bought that last night, it was fine..." Lawrence gasped, and he was back to the sink.

After washing down the sink and taking the trash out, Lawrence ran upstairs. He was sitting on the toilet, leafing through a magazine when Connie waltzed in to a round of spontaneous applause.

"What did I miss?"

"He found the Chinese," Ranger laughed.

I must have looked pale at the mention of the puke-fest.

"Sorry, Steph," Connie laughed.

"Then he brushed his teeth for like five minutes and gargled with mouthwash."

"That's great!" Connie beamed.

"Now he's going number two," I explained as the toilet flushed.

Connie was doing a happy dance. Ranger and Tank and Lester were beyond hiding their amusement.

"What the hell?" Lawrence gasped. Silence for a beat as we imagined he was inspecting himself in the mirror. "My hair! What the hell is happening to my hair?" We heard him pick up his hair brush. "No! No, no, no!" he wailed. He rifled through his medicine cabinet, checking the contents. Everything appeared to be in place. "There are no such things as curses," he insisted, trying to get a grip.

Before he could get that grip, his phone rang.

"Hello?" he answered gruffly.

"Well?" Joyce demanded. "You said you know who my mystery stalker is. Talk."

"You know what? It's gonna cost you."

"Don't play games with me, Grant. I'm not in the mood."

"You want information. I want information. Before I tell you who approached me asking about you, you're going to tell me why you married me. You used me, but I've never been sure how and for what purpose. Today's the day you come clean. Or I'll keep my little secret until you do."

"You little rat," she growled.

"Take it or leave it, Joyce."

"Fine. It was for the money. Happy?"

"That's not it. That's too easy. Try again."

"That's all it was. Sorry if you can't handle the truth," she snapped.

"Call me when you're ready to deal," and he disconnected.

"Oooh! This is getting good!" Connie gushed.

Lawrence padded back into the kitchen, apparently ready to try solid food again. He opened the fridge, and we all braced for what was coming. CRUNCH.

"He went for the caramel onion!" Connie said, clapping her hands and bouncing on her toes.

Hector didn't get it, so Ranger explained it quickly. Hector winced and made a pucker face. "Chicas malas," he muttered under his breath.

"That's right, baby. We're bad girls," Connie teased, winking at Hector.

Spitting could be heard, then cursing and more, "What the hell is going on around here?" from Lawrence. After taking another trip to the trash can outside, and after brushing his teeth again, we heard, "Damn onion burning my eyes."

"He's going for the eye drops," Lula declared. "This is so great. I love Operation Evil Eye. You know, we should do this more often."

Moments later, Lawrence ordered pizza delivery including a 2 liter Coke. Ranger grinned, picking up his cell once the call was complete. He was typing something into his phone.

"What are you doing? Texting him?" I asked.

"Making sure his phone will display the pizza place's name on the Caller ID," he explained, dialing.

"Yes?" Lawrence answered.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Lawrence. This is the manager at Romagna Restaurante. We are short delivery drivers this evening. If you would like to pick up your order, we can have it ready in fifteen minutes. If you would like to wait for delivery, it will be at least an hour wait."

"Perfect!" he complained. "I'll be right there," and he disconnected. Lawrence grabbed his keys and left.

Five minutes later, Ranger dialed 911 and handed his phone to Connie.

"Yes, I'm at the Romagna Restaurante on Commerce. I want to report a man exposing himself. Yes, he's in the restaurant arguing with the manager about a pizza delivery. No, he's not wearing low-riding pants. His pants are, uh, crotchless. Yes, please hurry. Thank you."

Twenty minutes later, he was back in the house, trudging upstairs to change his pants, using every swear word he knew.

"Hmph! Guess you don't get arrested for indent exposure when you're from that part of town", Lula huffed.

"Just as well. It's not like I could go down and bail him out," Connie said.

"At least he didn't get dinner," I said, grinning. We heard the pizza delivery man come and go while Lawrence was out.

"Yeah. He'll never eat at Romagna's again, either," Connie said. "Too bad. They have great Ravioli."

"Payback's a bitch," Ranger said, shooting nasty grin my way.

I swallowed hard, knowing we were both thinking about Hamilton & Broad.


	25. The Fugitive

I returned to Rangeman with Tank and Ranger. Bobby wasn't as pleased to see us as I would have imagined. It was shift change, and Bobby was bringing Lester up to speed. The communication between the four men was unspoken, but a lot was being said. I only caught some of it. Ranger caught all of it.

Lester and Bobby went to the stairs, presumably headed for four. Tank took the helm, and Ranger went to his office. I was left standing there in the middle of the control room wondering what just happened.

I followed Ranger. He was sitting behind his desk, apparently catching up on the day's events.

"Any more emergencies?" I asked.

"No. We've moved beyond that."

"How long do you think this is going to go on?" I asked.

"As long as it has to."

"Is there anything I can do that would actually help you?"

Ranger stopped typing and looked at me, serious. "Babe, you already have. But right now, I need to catch up on some things."

"Ok," I said, getting up from my seat. "I'll be on seven."

"I'll be up around midnight, if I can. Don't wait up," he said, turning back to the computer screen.

I took the elevator to Ranger's apartment, said hello to Rex, and took a long, hot shower. It had been an exhausting day. I didn't see how Ranger and Tank could find all that sneaking around relaxing. Not to mention, knowing what they did about Donaldson.

I put on sweats and a t-shirt and assumed my thinking position on Ranger's bed. Thinking about Lawrence made me itch all over, so I tried to focus on my next move. I needed to get a bead on Masterson.

Connie made me a copy of the file while we were at the office. Masterson was wanted for triple homicide. He was originally hauled in on multiple drug charges. While out on bail, he murdered the three men who were scheduled to testify against him. He wasn't exactly the sharpest tack on the corkboard, because he shot all three of them while they were drinking together in a bar full of witnesses. So now, instead of facing three witnesses on drug charges, he was facing a dozen or more witnesses in a murder trial. Vinnie hadn't foreseen this circumstance when he posted bail. Masterson's mother had put her house up for collateral, but it wasn't close to worth the $500,000 Vinnie was going to be out.

There weren't very many people who would harbor a fugitive like Masterson. When I was first handed the case by Vinnie, I checked with all of his relatives and acquaintances, beginning with his mother and ending with his high school guidance counselor. Masterson couldn't leave drugs alone, so he couldn't be trusted to deal. He was an alcoholic that couldn't function without booze, and he had no job skills whatsoever. That meant he was only good for one thing at this point. Murder. And gangs were always looking to recruit shooters with no other options. That was where I would put my money, if I had any.

So, what gang would take a scumbag like Masterson? He was white, so that ruled out the Black and Hispanic gangs. He wasn't Irish or Italian. As far as I knew, that pretty much narrowed it down to the Aryan Brotherhood. They were mostly a prison gang, but they needed guys on the outside. To be a member, you had to have killed someone, no problem there, but you got in by invitation only. It would take some time for word about Masterson's impressive resume to travel up and down the prison pipeline. He missed his court date 10 days ago. By my estimation, Masterson was still lying low in Trenton, waiting for an invitation. But once he got the invite, the Brotherhood might make him disappear to any state in the union, or Guam. And that could happen any day now. And there was little chance of finding Masterson then.

There was no way Ranger was going to let me leave Rangeman to hunt down a member of the Aryan Brotherhood so I could follow him to his hideout and hope I lucked into finding Masterson. Also, if this line of reasoning had occurred to me, it surely had occurred to Vinnie and Vinnie would have send Joyce to check it out. Except that Joyce was busy checking out Morelli.

My phone was ringing in my bag in the hall. I rolled off the bed and went to answer it. It was Connie.

"I'm so pumped I can't sleep. Tell me what's going on at Rangeman. Lula's telling me Tank is still on lock-down and she doesn't know when she'll see him again. I thought everything was okay. The guys weren't acting all military-tense today."

"They were taking a little break from their mission," I explained. "It's back to business now."

"So, are you on lock down again?"

"I think so."

"I thought you were going after Masterson."

"I was just thinking about that. Did you happen to hear Vinnie talking to Joyce about the Aryan Brotherhood?"

"The Aryan Brotherhood? No. Why?" She sounded concerned.

"I just can't figure who else would give Masterson a job right now. He needs to relocate. That's the only solution I can think of."

"That's some good thinking," Connie said, mulling it over. "Let me ask Hank to keep his ears open. You wouldn't believe the things people will say while they're in a convenience store. It's like Hank is invisible or something."

"Thanks," I said. "How's that going, anyway?"

"Wonderful," Connie said, her silly love-sick grin actually audible.

"Wow. So, have you been seeing a lot of each other?"

"Yeah, sort of. First, I went over to his house and we found Joyce's bugs. I told him to leave them there. So, he's been leading Kevin on wild goose chases all over town, and we've been camped out to watch."

"He's learning from the best," I told her.

"Yeah. Hank's a fast learner. He could do it without me, but he waits for me. Says I'm his good luck charm."

"That's sweet," I told her. "Be careful with Lawrence tomorrow."

"Don't worry. I got this." And she disconnected.

I was about to put my phone away, when I realized I had received a text message with a file attachment. It was from Ram. Joyce had left Anita another message. I played the file.

"I know you visited Grant Lawrence. I'm onto you. And when I find you, believe me, you'll wish you had never been born."

Nice. It was good to know I could get her blood pressure up that high. Imagine how much angrier she would be if she knew it was me. I grimaced, then corrected myself. That was the old Stephanie with the squishy insides. This was the new Stephanie. The pissed off Stephanie. The Stephanie that was not going to take any more crap from Joyce. I focused on Joyce, going through the mental flash cards. Starting with kindergarten, I reviewed every humiliation from grade school to graduation. I lingered for a moment on the Dickie fiasco. I looked at the new cards for Anders and Mary Lou, David Rogenbach, Wayne Brandt, and Grant Lawrence. And last but not least, Vinnie. Joyce had taken two jobs from me. I grit my teeth and renewed my vow to get to the bottom of this.

I returned my thoughts to Masterson, warming even more to the thought of stealing my skip back from Joyce.

I assumed The Aryan Brotherhood was one gang Ranger didn't have connections with. Connie was busy with Lawrence. Lula wasn't going to be helpful on this one. I was on lock down. Ram was already keeping tabs on Joyce for me. I was running thin on back up.

I felt a stab of jealousy as I involuntarily thought of Jeanne Ellen Burrows. What would Jeanne Ellen do? First off, Jeanne Ellen is competent and Ranger wouldn't have to put her into protective custody. Second, Jeanne Ellen is a bad ass and she'd just march in there and take her man. Who would stop her? I tried to picture me doing that. Even in Rangeman black, I wasn't seeing it. I didn't have that fearless look in my eyes. I had a lot of fear. I could attract a man's attention, but I didn't intimidate. Men tended to reach out and try to grab me. Then I lost it and went kicking and flailing and usually came out on top.

But it was more likely I would get in over my head, and Ranger would have to come get me, and then Rangeman would be fighting two battles instead of one. I nixed that idea.

I flopped back down on the bed. I needed some way to draw Masterson out. But even if I did, I wasn't legally authorized to make the capture. But I didn't really want to capture Masterson, at least, not yet. What I really wanted was to blackmail Vinnie into telling me what he knew about Joyce. And to do that, I didn't actually need to know where Masterson was. I just needed Vinnie to think I did.

Grinning, I slipped under the covers and turned off the light. Soon, I was dreaming I was wrapped in Ranger and Bulgari.

When I woke up, it was late morning...in Maine.


	26. The Safe House

I woke to the sound of birds chirping in the tree outside my window. The sun was warm and bright, making the large room feel safe and inviting. The high ceiling seemed to soar above me. The room was large, and furnished with an understated elegance. The windows were almost floor to ceiling with beautiful lace curtains. At first, I thought it had to be a dream. I stretched lazily.

Then I felt the ankle-cuff. I sat bolt-upright, feeling my ankles under the warm down comforter. There was only one cuff, and it was lined with something soft. I tried to wiggle my foot out, but it wasn't happening. I grabbed the chain. It wasn't a heavy chain, but it was high quality stainless steel, and I knew I wasn't going to be able to break it.

My heart was pounding in my chest even though I was pretty sure I knew what had happened. I thought back. The last thing I remembered was Ranger coming to bed. I was sure he had bit my earlobe. Then...I rubbed the stinging spot on my hip. I was pretty sure he injected me with some of that sleepy-time juice Lester had mentioned that Rangeman kept in the infirmary. I leaned over the corner of the bed. Yep, floor bolt. And I was connected to it.

I should have been more angry, and probably I would be later, once the drugs wore off. But right now, it just seemed like too much trouble. I lay back down, and allowed the lazy contentment to wash over me again. The room was large and old-fashioned, with fresh yellow paint and a pretty floral wallpaper with light purple flowers and green stems playing lazily above the wainscoting. I watched a bright blue bird with a red breast singing on a branch. The tree branches waved in a breeze. I was pretty sure I was upstairs. I could smell a fireplace. When I listened, I could hear the sound of a roaring chainsaw outside. I listened for a moment, realizing there was a rhythm to the sound. Then it hit me. I knew that sound.

"Lula?" I called weakly. I slid out of bed. I had soft slipper socks on my feet, so I had to be careful not to slip as I stood on the hardwood floor. "Hello?" I called.

I heard footsteps coming up the stairs at a leisurely pace. For a moment, I felt a tingle of fear. Fear of the unknown. I knew it wouldn't be Ranger. I looked down at myself, relieved to find I was wearing a very modest, sea-green flannel nightgown, complete with long sleeves with ruffles and a lace bib overlaying the bodice. The hem all but touched the floor. I recognized it from the bag Ella had packed for me. She said it was cold in Maine and I'd thank her for it later. The last time I had worn pajamas like this I was five years old. And I could only imagine what my hair looked like.

Zero appeared in the doorway with a breakfast tray. I saw two Tastykakes lying on a painted china plate and light-colored coffee in a matching china cup with saucer. The tray was complete with a long-stemmed, white wild-rose sticking out of a crystal vase.

"What's going on?" I asked as Zero placed the tray gently on the end table beside my bed. "Do I hear Lula?"

If I looked like an irate toddler just up from a nap, Zero didn't seem to notice.

"Connie's here too. We had no choice," he said.

"What's happening at Rangeman? Is Ranger OK? Tank? Everyone?"

"As far as I know, everyone is accounted for. My orders came directly from Ranger." Zero was standing at parade rest just inside the doorway, feet apart, hands behind his back, chest out. But he wasn't staring straight ahead like he was being grilled. He seemed oddly relaxed, as if resigned to his fate.

"What are your orders, exactly?" I asked.

"To keep you here until we get the all clear. We have a sat phone, and Ranger has given us a safe word. Until we hear from Ranger, Manny and I are charged with keeping you safely hidden at all costs." Zero gave me a meaningful look. "I'm sorry about the shackles, but I'm not allowed to remove them. You can travel freely from room to room. There's a bathroom in the hallway. And we can allow you downstairs anytime you like. There's a library in the sitting room with a fireplace. We are also authorized to use any force necessary to prevent you from leaving the house."

I waived that away. "I know the drill," I told him.

"There are no stun guns here," he told me. "So don't get any ideas about putting our lights out."

Zero and Manny were not going to fall for any of our usual stunts like Hal would have. Even Cal we could gross out. But not these guys.

"We're at the lake house in Maine," I assumed.

Zero looked just a little surprised that I was prepared for this eventuality. "Maine, yes. House, yes. Lake, no. Amphibious aircraft could land on the lake. We could never defend. Plus, there's a chance Ranger's safe house could be traced back to Rangeman ownership if someone were skilled enough."

"If Rangeman doesn't own it, who does?"

"A friend?" he shrugged. I could sense that Zero didn't even know where we were.

I raised my eyebrows. "Who else is here?"

"It's just the five of us. Manny and I were put on notice some time ago that we would pull this duty if you were ever in serious danger again. Since then, we've sat on witnesses at the lake house until Ranger felt we were prepared enough that we could live off the land if we had to. Manny had extensive first aid experience in the field, out of necessity, not by choice. But he's been working with Bobby in the infirmary for nearly a year now."

"Where the hell are we?" I asked again, looking out each of the windows facing two directions. My room was a corner room. But I saw the same scene out every window. Green grass down below, endless tree bark, singing birds, a hint of blue sky above, and nothing more.

"We're no where close to civilization. From the temperature and what I can see, I'd guess we're near the Canadian border. We may actually be in Canada. Either way, we're deep in a densely forested area. It'll be impossible to get here by car or boat or plane. They have a saying in Maine. 'You can't get there from here.' This is one of those places."

"What about water?"

"Natural spring. The house has solar, plumbing, and hot water heated by the fire in the kitchen. We have a small generator that we can use to re-charge our electrical devices. We're running infra-red at night for a mile radius. When you're up for it, we'll go over the plan in case we are attacked."

"How did a house even get here?" I asked. "This house looks old, but like it's been kept up."

Zero shrugged again. "It's not a typical safe house. But there is a safe room hidden beneath the house."

"How did we get here?"

"Private helicopter picked us up from the roof at Rangeman."

I stared at him for a beat. "We were lowered down, unconscious, from a helicopter, in to the middle of a forest?"

He nodded.

"What about Lula and Connie? They weren't at Rangeman."

"They arrived shortly before the helicopter. Tank and Bobby brought Lula to Rangeman, taking the stairs from the garage to the roof, and Ranger and Lester brought Connie right after that. I stayed with you on seven until they were ready."

"Did Ranger come with us?"

"No. Just me and Manny."

"Why? What happened?"

"I don't know. I wasn't briefed before we left."

"Am I the only one awake?" I asked.

"So far."

"Where's Manny?"

"Watching the perimeter."

"Have you had any sleep?"

"Don't worry about us."

I tugged at my chain. It was long enough that I could leave the room. I walked out the door, peering over the banister as I walked towards the next open door upstairs. I peeked in at Connie. Her room was a light lavender with yellow flowers, almost the reverse of my room. Connie was still dressed in her street clothes. Her shoes were peeking out from the end of the bed. She was snoring softly.

I went to the next door, and found it was closed. When I opened it, Lula's snoring hit me at full volume. I quickly closed the door. She was fine.

"What's going on?" Connie called out.

I hurried back to Connie's room.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to wake you," I said.

Connie's eyes were wide. She took in my hair, my night gown, and the chain in my hand. Then she took in Zero standing behind me.

"What's going on?" she asked again, this time much more slowly. She held her head in her hands like the room was spinning.

"Rangeman put all three of us in protective custody," I told her.

Connie pulled back the covers, and tried to stand, but was stopped when her chain snagged on her other leg. She had rolled around and gotten tangled. I came over to the bed to help her get free. Connie rushed over to the window and made the same assessment I had. We were prisoners.

"What's Ranger thinking? He can't just kidnap people like this. It's illegal," she spouted.

"He can. He did. And He does," I said.

Zero was standing at parade rest in the hall outside Connie's door. "I can bring you breakfast," he suggested.

I nodded, and Zero disappeared down the stairs.

"I can't believe this," Connie said, sinking back on to the bed. "What about work? What about Vinnie? What about Lawrence? We have things going on. A life. He can't just..."

"It had to be life or death, or he wouldn't have done it," I assured her. "Donaldson saw the five of us together yesterday. If he threatened us, Ranger wouldn't take the chance."

Zero was pounding up the stairs with Connie's breakfast. It looked a lot like my breakfast.

"That'll work," Connie said, taking the tray.

"Come on. We can eat in my room," I said. We shuffled back down the hall.

"Is that Lula?" Connie asked, referring to the muffled snoring.

"Yep."

"How did we get here?"

"Helicopter."

"Oh my God," she sighed.

We ate our Butterscotch Krimpets and drank what was a surprisingly superior coffee while we discussed our situation. Zero had returned downstairs once he was convinced we had accepted that there was no point trying to escape.

"This is kind of insulting," Connie complained. "It's like he doesn't trust us."

"Go figure," I said, rolling my eyes. "I wouldn't trust us either, given our record. Besides, we've only got two Rangemen to keep us safe, and that only leaves one at a time to watch us while the other is doing surveillance. If we're being too much trouble, they'll never get any sleep."

"Speaking of sleep, I was really looking forward to seeing the bags under Lawrence's eyes today. That 3:00 alarm must have made him crazy," Connie said with a mirthless little smile. "And we were going to find out about Joyce."

"Maybe we still can," I said, calling for Zero.

He bounded back up the stairs.

"You mentioned that we would have a chance to recharge electrical devices. Can we still use our cell phones?"

"Your phone only," he said. "Connie and Lula had to leave their phones at Rangeman."

"What's so special about your phone?" Connie asked.

"It's Rangeman property. Encrypted, like Ranger's."

"It can't be traced or tri-angulated, and it will scramble your voice so it can't be picked up by monitoring devices. It's safe to use. It's in your bag, in the closet."

"What about my mom? She lives with me. She'll be calling the cops if I'm missing," she said.

"Ranger had her moved to Cranberry Manor while you're gone. She's been told you were called out of town on an emergency."

"What about Vinnie?"

"He was told the same."

"What about Lula? Vinnie will expect someone to show up today."

"Same. You're both out of town on an emergency."

"He'll never buy it," Connie said. "That's the best you could come up with?"

Zero shrugged. "We didn't lie."

"He's got a point," I said.

Connie rolled her eyes. "I'd have preferred a good lie."

We heard a door open and close, and felt a gust of cold air rush up the stairs. Zero went back downstairs to talk to Manny.

I went to the closet and found the duffel bag Ella packed for me. My purse was hanging on a hook on the wall inside the closet. Otherwise, the closet was empty.

Connie ran to her room and found her purse and a black duffel much smaller than mine.

I was dumping my bag onto my bed. Connie's eyes were wide, looking over everything I could need for a month or more. She pulled the zipper on her duffel and found only generic black sweat pants, sweat shirts, and t-shirts, all men's size medium.

"I don't think Ella was prepared for your evacuation," I told her. And I doubt Rangeman even bothers to order anything in men's small. You're probably lucky there were that many mediums."

"I suppose Lula's going to be wearing the same," she said, "Except Tank's size."

"Yeah. It'll be the first time we've ever seen her wearing clothes that fit," I laughed.

Connie dug around in the bag some more. "No underwear?" She looked over the bed at my assortment of underwear and bras.

"Rangemen don't usually wear any," I told her.

Connie froze at the thought. She glanced over at me to see if I was kidding. "Hey, Zero!" she yelled down the stairs.

Oh, boy.


	27. Over The Edge

Connie and I were almost finished with our breakfast when Lula let out a blood-curdling scream. I nearly dropped my china.

"Lula's awake," Connie grinned.

"No kidding," I said, shoving off the bed and hurrying down the hall.

"Help! Tank! Help! Donaldson's got me!"

I flung open the door with Connie hot on my heels. Lula was completely wrapped up in her ankle chain like a mummy. She couldn't move her arms or her legs.

"Oh, no! They got you too?" she gasped. "Ok, ok...Batman's comin'. Oh, Lord!"

"Calm down!" I told her. "Everything's fine. We're in a Rangeman safe house."

Zero and Manny both came pounding up the stairs and appeared in the doorway.

"You sure?" Lula asked, eyeing them suspiciously. Lula had never met our bodyguards.

"Yes. I know these guys. They work for Ranger."

"Then what the Sam Hill am I doing tied up?"

"You rolled around on your chain and got yourself wrapped up," I told her. "You're going to have to roll the other way," I said, trying to help her untangle the blanket.

"If we're with Rangeman, why are we all wearing chains? That's not right," she whispered to me, loud enough everyone could hear.

"Ranger warned me he would whisk me away to a safe house in Maine and chain me to the floor if I were ever in serious danger again. We're deep in the woods, somewhere near the Canadian border. There's no where for us to go."

"Say what?" Lula gasped. "We're where?"

"Just calm down and roll over," I sighed. I looked over to Connie. "You wanna help me out here?"

Connie was laughing silently, her hand over her mouth. She shook her head no. "You're doing just fine," she said.

Zero and Manny were speechless as I worked to free Lula.

I looked over to Zero. "A little help here, huh?"

He walked over to the floor bolt and unhooked the chain. I didn't see how he did it, and right now I didn't care. I took the unhooked end and worked backwards. A minute later Lula jumped out of bed.

"What the devil do you think you're doing, chaining up three women in the middle of nowhere?" she said to Zero, getting in his face.

Zero didn't look surprised. "Orders," he answered.

Lula yanked the end of the chain out of my hands. "You take this off me right now. You understand?"

Zero held out his hand for the chain. Lula handed it over, expectantly. Zero calmly walked over to the floor bolt and re-connected it.

"Hey!" Lula bellowed.

"Orders," Zero repeated, and he and Manny left the room and went back downstairs.

"Just where do you think you're going?" Lula bellowed, racing after them and leaning over the balustrade.

"He probably just went to get your breakfast. Connie and I just had ours."

Connie sat in a rocking chair in the corner of the room. I sat on the edge of the bed. Lula finally came back to sit beside me.

"I can't believe this," she said.

"You were the one complaining about being left on the outside," I reminded her.

"Yeah, well. It sounded like more fun than this."

"I'm having fun," Connie said, grinning as Zero came bounding up the stairs yet again.

Sure enough, he brought a breakfast tray for Lula, but with four Tastykakes instead of two. I raised my eyebrows at him as I looked over the tray, but he didn't respond. Connie didn't notice the Tastykake discrepancy. Connie was busy eyeing Zero's other goodies.

"My cell phone doesn't work," I told him.

"Manny's still hooking up the electronics," he explained. "Give us 30 minutes."

"Fine," I sighed. "And thanks for taking care of us. We'll try not to be too difficult," I told him.

"Speak for yourself," Connie said, eyeing Zero enough to make him uncomfortable.

"Yeah," Lula agreed, but for completely different reasons.

"Just let me know if you need anything. I can let you downstairs later."

"We need more coffee," Connie told him.

Zero nodded and went padding back down the stairs.

"You're going to wear that boy out making him go up and down the stairs like that," I warned Connie.

"He's young. I'm just testing his stamina."

"You're supposed to be involved with Hank," I reminded her.

"Just looking," she said, rolling her eyes at me. "What else is there to do around here?"

"Why are we here, anyway?" Lula asked as she tore into her breakfast. The sound of crinkling Tastykake wrappers were making me hungry. I could have eaten a whole box of Tastykakes.

"We don't know yet," I told her. I explained what we knew and how we got to the safe house.

Zero returned with a fancy carafe of hot coffee, and we all enjoyed a refill. After he cleared the breakfast trays, making yet another round trip on the stairs, he returned with a relieved smile in his eyes.

"It's Ranger," he said, handing me the sat phone.

"Yo," I answered, trying not to sound too pissed until I heard him out.

"Babe," he answered.

"What's going on?"

"Donaldson is ready to spring his trap. He sent men to bring back the bait, and he named you. He was watching all of us together yesterday. Tank and I agreed it would be best if all three of you were together, out of harm's way."

"Why are we chained to the floor?" I asked, unable to hide my resentment. "I understand I've been difficult to contain in the past, but we're in the middle of nowhere. I know you have threatened to chain me to a toilet before, and I know you think this is for my own safety, but you need to tell Zero he can let us off the chain. Seriously."

"Babe, the chain was not for your safety."

"What?"

"The chain was for my men's safety. I intended to leave one woman with three of my men providing protection. But now I'm trusting three of you with only two. In shifts, that leaves only one. When you woke up, I expected some initial...dissatisfaction, with the situation."

"And you thought we'd over-power your men?"

"Three angry women to one man? I wasn't taking any chances. If you injure my men, you're going to be left vulnerable when you really need them."

"I understand. We understand. We aren't going to attack Zero and Manny. Okay? Please, will you tell Zero it's okay to let us loose? I mean, what if we were attacked? We're sitting ducks."

"What if I let you loose, and you burn the house down?"

"We won't," I insisted.

"Tank wants to talk to Lula. Then we'll decide," he said diplomatically.

"Fine," I breathed, "Here, for you," I said to Lula, handing her the phone.

"Tank?" Lula listened for a beat. "This is some bullshit you've got going on. Get me out of this. This is how you treat your woman? Like a damn dog on a leash?" Tank responded. "Yeah, well, I guess I could kick the crap out of this little pip-squeak. But I didn't." Tank responded again. "Fine. I promise. Happy? Now get me the hell out of this forest. I got things to do. I had a manicure appointment today. I got a paycheck to cash and I need to make a payment on some personal items I have on layaway. I can't be sitting around here doing nothing for the next who-knows-how-long. Get that Donaldson asshole so I can come home." Tank said something. "Fine. Love you too," she said, sarcastically. I was pretty sure Tank hadn't said goodbye in quite the way Lula was hoping for.

She handed the phone back to me. "Your turn."

"Yo," I answered.

"Okay, we're letting you loose. Do not leave the house. Do not injure my men. Do not cook. Do not complain about the cooking and do not raid the kitchen. Listen to the emergency plan and do what Zero and Manny tell you. If they want to practice, you practice the plan until you all get it right."

"Yes, sir," I said with a little snark.

"Remember, you're in charge down there. You're the leader. Please help me out with this."

"What are you doing about your problem?"

"Can't talk about that, Babe. But you'll be home soon."

"How soon?"

"Not today."

"Zero says we can use my phone?"

"Yeah."

"How? We're a million miles from a cell tower. I don't have a signal."

"You will soon. Manny's working on it. This phone is emergency only. If you call me on this phone, I'm going to assume someone is dead. Understand?"

"Yes."

"Give me Zero," he ordered. I handed Zero the phone and Ranger didn't waste words. Zero handed the phone right back to me.

"I've got to go. I'll call when it's all clear."

"Ranger," I said, catching him as he was about to disconnect, wishing I could just keep him on the line. I wanted him to put me back in his pocket and take me with him, so I would know he was safe. He was about to take out Donaldson. I could feel it, and it made me queasy to think about what that meant.

"Babe?"

"I love you."

"I know." He couldn't say it, even in front of Tank. I didn't know who else was there.

"I know too," I told him.

"Babe," he breathed, and disconnected. No doubt in my mind what he meant.

Minutes later we were all free. Connie, Lula, and I were lounging on two large couches with books and blankets in front of a huge stone fireplace. There were three large logs about 4' long blazing inside. I was thinking the house was a Victorian. There was a tapestry style carpet running down the stairs, fancy runners in the hallways, and woodwork everywhere. This was someone's get-away cottage; someone with money, but not someone too pretentious. The ceiling was varnished wood and polished beams, and the furnishings were re-upholstered antiques. Taken together with the old leather-bound books and the hand painted china, I was thinking it was a family home that had been passed down for generations. There was a sense of these items belonging together rather than a hodge-podge of antiques acquired and tossed together in a room to make it look period. This place was period. It almost felt as if time didn't exist here. The house smelled a little old and musty, but still felt warm and inviting with the fire crackling and popping.

Manny had been up on the roof installing a dish, and we were now getting cell service. He brought me my phone and Connie and Lula dropped their reading.

"What do we do first?" Connie wondered.

"I have the codes for Lawrence's house, Dickie's bug, and Anita's voice mail," Manny told me.

"Lawrence first," Connie squealed. I nodded, handing the phone back to Manny. He called up the recording and plugged the phone into a laptop. We all crowded around to listen on speaker.

At 3:00 am, the alarm went off. Cussing and confusion followed. The alarm went off again at 3:10 and 3:20. I guess the off button had been switched for the snooze button. At 3:30, Lawrence pulled the plug. He plugged it back in, set the time and alarm, and went back to sleep.

At 8:30 am, Lawrence's cell phone was going off in his office, but he didn't hear it and kept snoring. At 9:00 am, the same. At 9:30 am, someone was ringing the doorbell. This got his attention, and he rolled over and saw the time. This was followed by cursing and confusion as he fumbled for clothing and got to the front door.

A police officer had been dispatched to make a wellness check. Lawrence's office was worried when he couldn't be reached. Lawrence apologized. The officer left. Lawrence called the office, explaining that he was having car trouble but would be in shortly.

We heard the shower come on. Moments after the shower doors closed, there was screaming mixed with crying and sounds of denial. Presumably his hair was breaking off in his hands as he tried to shampoo. He was in there a long time, using the itchy soap. When the shower shut off, and he emerged, we were treated to shaving and complaints about his apparent outbreak of adult acne, followed by the alcohol bracer. Then he brushed his teeth. Obviously he could no longer smell himself. The pop of the deodorant cap could be heard. Then, for about 20 minutes, he must have been messing with his hair. We could hear the snipping of scissors. Finally, there was the sound of electric clippers.

"Is he shaving his head?" Lula wondered.

"Must be," Connie agreed.

"Guess his rug wasn't sewn on after all," I grinned.

Zero returned from the kitchen.

"You got this?" he asked Manny.

Manny nodded.

Zero stretched out on the couch farthest from the heat of the fire. Seconds later, he was snoring.

"You wore him out," I told Connie.

"Don't you guys have rooms?" Lula asked.

"Three bedrooms," he said. "The couch is fine."

"There's no one in the beds right now," Lula pointed out.

"I think you're forgetting that Zero and Manny jumped out of a helicopter and helped haul all three of us to our rooms last night. He's too tired to make another trip up those stairs," I said. "Let him sleep." I massaged Manny's shoulders. "How are you holding up?" I asked.

"Don't worry about me," he said. "I'll sleep when Zero wakes up." He had one eye on our monitor and one eye on the perimeter cams.

We turned down the volume a little, and listened to Lawrence call back into the office, telling them he wasn't going to make it in. The car was being towed to the shop, and he didn't feel well. He thought he had pink eye. He'd just work from home. He went to his kitchen to get some breakfast. He made toast, and coffee. We could hear him using the mocha creamer canister. He was opening a jelly jar for his toast.

"Gotcha!" Connie squealed softly.

"Oh, Lord!" Lula whispered back, remembering what a trip to the kitchen was going to mean...a trip to the bathroom.

Sure enough, the next time stamp was twenty minutes later. Lawrence was in the bathroom, and bad things were happening. He was using a lot of the itching powder laced toilet paper.

"He wasn't lying," Lula said. "He doesn't feel well."

The next time stamp was just after noon. His phone rang, and he was speaking to someone who was obviously a superior.

"Yes, sir. No, I didn't forget. Yes, I realize it's an important meeting. And an important client. Yes, sir. I do realize this is our most important corporate account. But, you see, the problem is. Yes, sir. I understand. I'll be there."

He went back to the bathroom for eye drops, complaining about false advertising. It wasn't getting the red out.

Lawrence got dressed in his bedroom, and it sounded like he was looking for clean underwear, but not finding any. There was more swearing and now we could hear him scratching himself all over. The audible itching was followed by a ripping sound and strong cursing.

"Guess he shouldn't have scratched so hard," Lula laughed. "He just ripped another pair of pants."

Out of time, he finally made his way out the door at a quarter to one.

The next time stamp was one thirty. He went straight to the kitchen and dug around in the kitchen desk. A moment later, he left a voice mail for Barbie to call him.

"He called!" Connie said, jumping up excitedly. "I need to call him back."

"Finish the recording, then we'll call," I said.

We listened to him tossing his clothes, going back downstairs in who knows what, and in the distance we heard the splash of the pool from the kitchen mic.

"What the hell?" he screamed.

"Oh, man!" Connie laughed, throwing both arms around Manny's neck. She was standing behind his chair, and caught him completely off guard.

Manny's real name was Manuel Ramos. I knew this because I pretended to be his wife once when he got shot, so I could get past the nurses to check on him. I stayed until he was out of surgery. We didn't really get a chance to talk much, so I didn't really know him at all, but there was a little history between us.

Which is probably why Manny was now looking to me for help, as if he were afraid to try to fend Connie off. Connie had given herself over to a full-on laughing fit. She was practically crying into his shirt. Manny had no idea what was going on at Lawrence's house, or even who Lawrence was, and he didn't ask. He just sat, waiting for this little trial to be over.

I gave a helpless little shrug. "Wait till we fill you in," I told him. "Then it will all make sense."

"I hope so," he grimaced, trying to shrug Connie off.

I found a box of Kleenex and offered it to Connie, to occupy both her hands. Manny scooted closer to the table and flashed me a grateful look.

Lawrence returned to his office and was using his computer. Moments later, he was on the phone.

"Vincent Plum? This is Grant Lawrence. I'm looking for Stephanie Plum. Can you tell me how I might get in contact with her? No, it's a private matter. I assume she's a relative. Yes. Thank you."

More cursing.

"Vincent Plum? This is Grant Lawrence again. I'm sorry to bother you, but the number you gave me is disconnected. What about her parents? I see. Yes, I understand. Thank you."

He dialed another number.

"Marla. Don't hang up. I just need a small, personal favor. I need a number for a former client. I know. I'm no longer an employee. I just need an address and phone number for Stephanie Plum. Trenton. It's personal. She put a curse on me, and that's why I smell like this, my skin is breaking out, my eyes are red, I lost my hair, my clothes are filthy and falling off. For the love of God, just help me find her so I can...hello?"

More cursing.

"We got him fired?" Lula gasped.

I was in shock. "No way. He's an exec. He couldn't get fired that fast."

"He showed up like that to a meeting with their most important client," Connie said. "I'm thinking he could."

We were caught up to current. It was 2:00 in the afternoon. Manny unhooked the cell phone and handed it over to Connie. Connie found Lawrence's phone number. I had programmed all of Joyce's ex's into my phone. Connie did a nervous little dance as it started ringing.

"Mr. Lawrence? This is Barbie, returning your call."

"I have decided to take your advice. I'm going to apologize, but I don't know how to find this woman."

"Do you have a name?" She asked.

"Stephanie Plum. She's a bounty hunter, or she was. I called the office where she worked, but she quit. He cousin doesn't have her new number."

"Stephanie Plum, the bounty hunter? Let me call around. I think one of my girlfriends may actually know her. I'll call you back." And she disconnected.

"What are you going to do when he apologizes, and we don't have any way to remove the curse?" Connie asked.

I shrugged. "I don't know."

The old Stephanie was feeling a little rotten about getting Lawrence fired. But the new Stephanie was remembering him ripping my purse away, ready to feed me to Joyce, and his nasty little finger waive as Manny and Zero dragged me through the door. I narrowed my eyes at the phone.

"Call him back," I told Connie. Give him Anita's number. He can leave a message.

She looked up Anita's number in my phone and wrote it down. She was about to dial when Lawrence's cell phone rang.

"Bitch," he answered.

"It's got to be Joyce," Lula said, listening hard.

We could only hear half of the conversation.

"Wrong answer. I want the truth, and you're going to give it to me. You're going to tell me why you really married me, or you're never going to find out who's asking about you. No, it wasn't money, and it wasn't my body. It wasn't my charm or my lifestyle or my car or my country club. Try revenge on for size. When you decide to tell me the truth, then we'll talk." And he disconnected.

"Wow," I said.

"You still want me to call him?"

"Sure," I said.

Connie dialed. "It's Barbie. Yeah. I got her number."

Moments later, we listened to him leaving the message.

"This is a message for Stephanie Plum. Grant Lawrence here. I'm calling to apologize for my behavior the other night, and to ask you to please remove this curse from me. I had no idea that you were so serious about this Joyce thing. It isn't fair that you ladies have me caught in the middle. Please let me go. I'm trying to find out what you wanted. As soon as I find out why Joyce asked me to cancel your policy, I'll let you know. I promise. Please do whatever you do to make this affliction stop. Please. I'm begging you." He provided his address and number. "I'll be at my house waiting for you."

"That was pathetic," Lula said.

But Lawrence wasn't done. He marched up to his room. "Come knocking on my door, Stephanie Plum, and we'll see how funny you think practical jokes are when you're looking down the barrel of a gun," he said, with maniacal laughter.

"He's crazy," I said.

"We might have gone a little too far," Connie agreed.

Then we all heard the distinctive click and whir of a revolver.

"Uh oh," Lula gasped as we heard Lawrence's doorbell ring.

Lawrence padded down the stairs and yanked open the front door.

"What do you want?" he bellowed.

"Mr. Lawrence!" a woman gasped. "What's happened to you? And what is that offensive odor?" she gasped. She had a snooty, upper-class accent with a slight southern drawl.

"You tell me. First, my regular girl quits when I demand her services on a Sunday, then her replacement only puts in an hour and runs out the front door, and the third maid didn't find the source of this stench either. Not that she doesn't have a fine ass, but that's three girls I'm paying you for, and I'm still not satisfied!" he snapped.

"Third girl?" the woman asked.

"Yeah, that Betty Boop impersonator. What's her name? Barbie Dahl?"

There was a loud smack as the owner of the housekeeping agency slapped him soundly across the face.

"You may consider our contract terminated," she huffed.

"You may consider yourself fired!" he yelled, pulling the gun and firing off a few rounds.

The agency owner let out a scream and raced for her car, chirping the tires as she spun out.

"Barbie Dahl? What the hell?" he said to himself. "Barbie Dahl? Shit, shit, shit! Maybe there really is a curse."

Sirens could be heard in the distance.

"So much for finding out about Joyce," Connie moaned. "The dumb ass is going to jail."

"Well, he brought it all on himself," Lula sighed.

"We might have had something to do with it," I said.

"Nah. He pushed you to give him THE EYE. And he wasn't really sorry when he apologized. And he pulled the gun. You didn't have anything to do with that. He's not a nice man."

"I agree," Connie said. "You didn't see the way he was looking at my assets. He's a creep."

"Watch Vinnie bail him out," Lula said.

"Let him," I said. "Then Joyce would have to chase him down."

"That would be perfect," Connie laughed.

Lawrence's voice came over the bug again.

"Vincent Plum? Grant Lawrence again."


	28. The Genius

After the excitement with Lawrence, Manny made us all some chicken noodle soup. It wasn't Ella's. It was from a can, but it was nice and hot. Manny heated it up in a cast iron kettle that hung from a hinged hook. It was weird to watch him swing the kettle into the fireplace. We all sat there watching it steaming like we were watching television. It was like living in a different time. And in a way, it felt like we were all being kept home from school with a cold or something. It was a Monday, and things were happening back in Trenton without us. Maybe part of the reason for this feeling was that I was still wearing my nightgown and slippers even though it was late afternoon.

While we ate, Connie called Hank to let him know she was okay, and to fill him in on my theory about Masterson. He promised to keep his eyes open, and to call my cell if he needed to reach Connie. He said he had received a call from Joyce. She wanted to know if Anita had paid him a social visit. He told her he didn't know what she was talking about and that she should go screw herself.

When our dishes were done and put away, I decided it was time to call Vinnie about Masterson, and to pressure him for answers about Joyce. I tried the bond's office number first. I'd rather catch him working than whatever else he might be doing outside the office. I hit the speaker button and motioned for silence. The phone rang five times before Vinnie answered.

"Yeah, whaddaya want?" Vinnie barked.

"Nice manners," I barked back. "You'll go out of business answering the phone like that. Where's Connie?"

"How the hell should I know? She didn't even call in. Lula either. Ranger called and said they were out of town on some kind of emergency. Well, I've got an emergency right here."

"Masterson."

"Yeah."

"I thought Joyce was handling that for you. After all, she's not afraid to go after the high bonds, remember?"

"You want your job back? Bring me Masterson."

"First off, I don't want my old job back. Second, I already know where Masterson is. And third, I couldn't bring him in if I wanted to. I'm not authorized."

"Whoa. Hold it. You know where Masterson is?"

"Yep."

"Well?"

"Like I'd tell you, you back-stabbing, evil little cockroach."

"You have to tell me! Harry's going to give me a sex change if I don't have Masterson in custody by this time tomorrow."

"Guess you should have thought about that before you gave in to your Johnson and gave my skip to Joyce."

"What's with you and Joyce already? Jeez. Can't you just get along?"

"No! We can't just get along! She screwed my husband. She stun guns me, shoots at me, frames me for kidnapping and murder, and steals my skips. And now she's moving in on Morelli! She's not exactly Miss Merry Sunshine, Vincent!"

"Take a pill! What, are you on the rag or something?"

"You know what? You can forget Masterson. You're not getting Masterson."

"Wait! I'm sorry, Steph. I'm on my knees, really. Honest and truly. Please. You have to tell me where Masterson is," Vinnie begged.

"You want to know?"

"Yes!"

"Then you have to give me something."

"Anything!"

"You need to tell me what Joyce thinks I did to her, way back in grade school, to make her hate me so much. You get me that, and I'll give you Masterson. But you can't let her know I'm asking."

"That's not fair!" Vinnie cried. "How should I know? I didn't go to school with you girls."

"Find out. Ask her."

"Can't I give you something else? I'll buy you a car!"

"Goodbye, Vinnie."

"Joyce isn't with Morelli!" he gasped into the phone. "Do you hear me?"

"I'm listening," I huffed.

"Morelli's got a restraining order on her. I guess Joyce had fooled Bella by dressing like June Cleaver, and Bella was trying to set her up with Morelli. Your grandma set Bella straight, and she gave Joyce what for once she figured out who she was. But that didn't stop Joyce. I guess she found a key and let herself into his house a couple times. She must have made copies. He takes the key away from her, and she just comes right back with another one. Joyce is very persistent when she wants something. She doesn't take no for an answer."

No kidding. And I figured I knew where she found Joe's house key...in the street along with his socks and broken coffee mug.

"So?" I blew out a sigh.

"So, that should be worth something, right?"

"Goodbye, Vinnie."

"I have more! About Joyce."

"I'm listening."

"One of her ex-husbands, Grant Lawrence, called earlier today asking for your number. I didn't have it. He didn't say what he wanted. A few minutes later, he called me back asking me to bail him out of jail. I guessed that's why he was calling you. I figured he didn't want to deal with Joyce."

"What was he arrested for?"

"Illegal discharge of a firearm."

"Did you bail him out?"

"Yeah, I bailed him out. He's loaded."

"You know he just got fired, right?"

"What?!" Vinnie choked. "That lying sack of shit!"

"He didn't put that on his bond application, did he?" I asked knowingly. I loved feeling superior to Vinnie for a change. I could get used to this.

"How do you know that?" He asked, then thought better of it. "Doesn't matter. His car is free and clear and he's got equity in the house. I'll make sure to secure it."

"What does this have to do with anything?" I asked, trying to sound annoyed as hell.

"He was talking crazy about you putting THE EYE on him, and some mysterious maid named Barbie Doll. He kept going on and on about her rack." I rolled my eyes. "This guy stunk to high heaven and looked like he'd been mauled by cats. And his breath was murder. He swore you put a curse on him and that his whole house stunk, but when I got him home, the only thing that stunk was him. I checked out the whole house. This guy is on some kind of drugs. He was talking about chicken soup in the swimming pool and dirty underwear and maggots in the fridge. I checked it all out, and there was nothing funny going on except him."

I raised my eyebrows, shock registering on my face. Connie was making the same face. Lula's eyes were bugging out of her head and she had both hands plastered over her mouth.

Vinnie continued. "I almost believed him at first because the house was freezing and doors were slamming shut by themselves every time we opened a door, but then I realized he had the central air set to 60 degrees and he had the attic fan on by accident. And you should see this guy's bathroom. It's as big as our old office, and I mean the entire office, not just my office. And his closet. L&T could shoot a commercial in there. He was going on and on about his suit pants exploding, but they were all fine when he was trying to show them to me. I thought he was going to spontaneously combust a few times."

"Drugs are bad," I agreed. "He said I put THE EYE on him?" I asked in mock disbelief.

"Yeah, like old Bella does." Vinnie laughed. "That's crazy, right?"

"Like I said, he just got fired. Sounds like he didn't pass the random drug test."

"Perfect. Now I'll have to sit on this nut job, like I've got time to do that," Vinnie complained.

"Why don't you let Joyce keep an eye on him? He's her ex-husband, after all."

"Yeah, right," Vinnie snorted. "I need him to still be alive when he shows up in court."

"Where is Joyce, then?" I asked.

"She better be out there looking for Masterson."

"You don't know where she is, do you?"

"Not since I bailed her out of jail this morning."

"You what?"

"She violated the restraining order. I guess she crawled into bed with Morelli last night. Uninvited."

"Goodbye, Vinnie." I snapped angrily.

"Wait! I don't have your number," he squealed.

"Don't call me. I'll call you," I said, and I disconnected. "I hate that little weasel."

"I knew it," Lula said, grinning. "Officer Hottie's never going to be desperate enough to do Joyce."

I was somewhat relieved myself. Ok, I was a lot relieved.

I didn't think. I picked up the phone and dialed Joe. This time, I didn't use the speaker. This was semi-private.

"Cupcake?" he answered.

"Hi," I said.

"You okay?"

"Yeah. I might have a lead for you. On Masterson. Interested?"

"How'd you know I was handed that case?"

"I didn't."

"What do you know?"

"Nothing solid. It's just a theory." I laid out my train of thought about Masterson and the Aryan Brotherhood.

"Makes sense," he agreed. "I hadn't thought of that. I have a guy watching his mother's house, and we have an APB out on him, but that's about it. We're short handed, as usual."

"You know Joyce got the file from Vinnie, right?"

"Yeah, I know."

"I heard you put a restraining order on her."

"I don't want to talk about it," he groaned.

"I need to apologize. I think she got the key from me."

"Figures," he mumbled.

"I'm sorry."

"Moving on." He wanted to change the subject.

"That's all I called for."

"OK, thanks."

"Bye," I said.

He disconnected.

"You okay?" Connie asked.

I didn't exactly feel weepy, but I felt a little low. Still, it hadn't been as awkward as I had expected.

"You look like you could use a donut. We got any donuts around here?" Lula asked Manny.

"Just Tastykakes. Got some chocolate cupcakes," he offered.

"That'll do," Lula told him.

He brought each of us girls a cupcake and a can of Pepsi. Ranger must have figured we'd need plenty of sugar and caffeine since we were under stress. It would make us easier to manage. Rangemen don't eat sugar. Manny was eating an apple.

"So, here's what I don't get. How the heck did Lawrence's house get cleaned up?" Lula wondered.

"The Rangeman control room would be monitoring if Ranger planted the listening device. We wouldn't want it found. Ranger probably sent a cleaning crew the second Lawrence was hauled off to jail."

"Now I feel bad," Lula moaned. "That would be a stinky job."

"Yeah, I feel bad too," Connie said. "I was going to clean that mess up. At least, most of it."

"Gonna be one heck of a water bill if they had to empty and re-fill his pool," Lula said, a grin slowly creeping across her face.

"Yep," I said, grinning along with her.

"Hope that last check includes some unused vacation," Connie laughed. "But it probably won't."

"He'll be walking if Vinnie takes his car for collateral," Lula said.

"He'll be walking funny. I'll bet Rangeman didn't get the sandpaper out of his shoes while he was wearing them," Connie beamed.

"I hope he's learned his lesson," Lula said, tossing back the last of her Pepsi.

"I wouldn't bet on it. He's probably going to be out to get me once I get back to Trenton."

"He wouldn't want to risk THE EYE, would he?" Lula wondered.

"I'm not sure he believes in THE EYE," I told her, remembering his remark about practical jokes.

"He'd better," Connie spat, with an evil twinkle in her eye. "Or I'll make him believe it."

"Whose next on the list?" Lula wanted to know.

"Brad Lintz. The guy from Internal Affairs. Morelli thought he moved to New York to take care of his mother." I brought Connie and Manny up to speed on Lintz.

"The cops should be glad Ranger carries," Connie said.

"Ranger's primary concealed carry was issued in Florida where he's listed as a resident. He applied there because more states have reciprocity with Florida than with New Jersey," Manny said. "There was a legal issue when he was caught carrying in Nevada. Nevada doesn't grant reciprocity to Florida or New Jersey. On top of that, when they verified his licenses, he was cited for claiming dual residency. He had to change New Jersey to non-resident status. There are only a handful of states where he can't carry. New York and Massachusetts don't have reciprocity with any state, so he's got non-residence permits there, and in Maryland. He can't carry in California or Oregon and a few other states, but we haven't had any need to go there. He was carrying illegally in Hawaii."

We all stared at Manny. Partly because he was talking so much, and partly because we were actually interested.

"I want to talk to Lintz, but I'm not sure how to approach him," I told Manny. "I can't just call him up and say, 'I heard you gave Morelli a hard time a few years ago. Was it because your bitch ex-wife asked you to?'"

Manny thought about it for a beat. "Is he still working as a cop in New York?" he asked.

I shrugged. "I don't know how to find out without asking Morelli, and I don't want to do that. Especially with Joyce sniffing around. I've left enough of a trail behind me already. I'll be lucky if Vinnie doesn't spill the beans. Sooner or later, she's going to figure out that I'm Anita."

"I can call the Boston office. They might know."

"OK, thanks," I said, handing him my phone.

Five minutes later, he confirmed that Lintz was working for the NYPD Support Services Bureau.

"Sounds like he's not much for working the beat," Manny said. "He transferred in and worked his six months probation at the 22nd Precinct, Central Park, before he took the desk job."

"You think he's a weasel?" I asked.

"Any man who knowingly lets a woman manipulate him into ruining another man is a weasel," Manny said, a hard look in his eyes.

I looked over at him and grinned. He probably thought the grin was because he had given me the answer I wanted. But what I was thinking was, that was exactly what I was talking Manny into doing, ruining Lintz, just like Tank and Ranger helped me ruin Lawrence, but he didn't seem to be making the connection. I had to pause for a second. Was I playing Joyce's game? Was I becoming just like Joyce? Was I seeking revenge, or justice? Joyce was seeking revenge. Or was she seeking justice? Was there a difference? It all looked the same on paper. I shoved it all to the back of my mind, unable to sort the tangled mess right now. The new Stephanie wasn't interested in debating semantics. I decided to focus on completing the mission.

"You wanna help us get him?" Lula asked Manny.

"How?" he asked.

"He was a weasel in Trenton, and he'll still be a weasel in New York," I said. "That's how we'll nail him."

"Yeah. If he was abusing his power in Internal Affairs, he's probably abusing his power in Support Services," Connie agreed. "We just have to figure out what his new game is."

"What exactly is Support Services?" Lula asked.

"The NYPD budget is enormous. Support Services gets a big chunk of it. They buy, track, and maintain all the cars and guns and computers, stuff like that. Whatever cops need that is issued to them my the department. Even uniforms and handcuffs."

"So, a lot of purchasing?" I asked.

"Yeah, and data tracking. Like, property and evidence tracking, and performance," Connie said meaningfully. "And in a department that size, with thousands of employees, it would be easy for him to set up some kind of racket to make money on the side."

"That sounds like a very attractive environment for a weasel," Manny nodded.

"Yeah, but who would care?" I asked, throwing my hands up.

"The Bureau Director. It's his butt on the line every time corruption comes to light in his department," Manny answered.

"Ok, but how do we get the director to investigate one little weasel when there are probably a thousand weasels working for him?"

"We need to know what area he's working in first," Connie said. "If he's handing out vehicle assignments, that's one thing. If he's re-routing coke and heroin, that's another." She reached for the phone and dialed information. She was connected to NYPD Support Services. "Yes, I'm trying to reach Brad Lintz. Could you possibly give me his direct number or extension?," she asked in her professional voice. "This is Tow Right. I'm calling about his personal vehicle. He did give us his number, but I can't make it out through the grease smudge on my photocopy of the work order." She wrote down a number and extension on a piece of paper. "If you can page him for me, that would be great. Thanks. Yes, I'll hold."

Connie put the phone on speaker. A minute later Lintz came on the line.

"This is Barbara Dahl from Tow Right. Is this the transportation division?" Connie asked.

"No. If you're calling about a police vehicle, you want the Fleet Services Division," he answered.

"Actually, I'm not calling about a police car. We need to drop off an abandoned vehicle. Fleet Services gave me this number, and I got transferred to you. What division is this?"

"Tech Support. You want the Property Clerk at Police Headquarters, 1 Police Plaza," and he gave Connie the number.

"Well, that seems pretty straight forward. I wonder why they transferred me to you? Does your job have anything to do with making corrections to property vouchers?"

"I manage the property and evidence tracking software," he responded. "I don't do data entry. You'll have to talk to the Property Clerk."

"So you're the one I would need to talk to about correcting the typo's on the property voucher form itself?" Connie teased.

"There are no typo's on the form," he assured her.

"Too bad. I guess I'll have to think of some other reason to call tech support," she sighed suggestively.

She was flirting with him. Good strategy, I thought, giving her the thumbs up. Men like to brag, especially worthless little weasels. Connie smiled and nodded back with a wink.

"Why would you want to do that?" he asked, sounding interested.

"I think computer geeks are so hot," she gushed. "I love smart men. The higher the IQ the better. But I've never had a smart man in a uniform. I'll bet that's even hotter. Do you wear a uniform, officer?" she teased.

"Yeah," he breathed into the phone. "And if it's IQ you want, how about 176."

"Oh my God!" Connie sighed. "Really?"

"Want me to prove it?"

"I'll bet you've got a damn important job," she said. "What rank are you? A Captain? Division Chief?"

"Division Chief?" he laughed. "They promote men who don't know how to do anything," he explained. "They'll never promote me. They can't do without me in my position. But that's fine. I don't care about prestige. I enjoy power. And this is where the real power is. Behind the scenes."

"What do you mean?" Connie asked.

"My superiors can pretend they control me, but when it comes to cyberspace, there's no one above me. Especially in this department."

"Are you a hacker?" Connie gasped. "That's so hot!" She started making excited little cooing sounds.

I started gesturing for her to cool it before we were all treated to an embarrassing episode of phone sex.

"True Hackers build freeware. I don't share. I consolidate power. Your definition of hacker is someone who breaks codes and steal passwords," he told her. "I create the codes and I hand out the passwords. I own this system."

"Wow," she said. "Next time I get a parking ticket, I'm calling you," she said, flirting again, but a little more mildly.

"You do that. I'll fix your ticket, issue you a permanent parking pass, and you can pay be back by buying me dinner so we can get to know each other a little better."

I made a grimacing face at Connie. Classy guy, I thought sarcastically. Major creep factor.

"That's a date," Connie whispered back. "I'll be sure to park by a hydrant later today."

We could hear him hitting his keyboard, typing really fast. Manny slashed his finger across his throat, signaling for Connie to end the call.

"The boss is coming. Gotta go, Sugar. But, I'll be seeing you real soon," she said, and she disconnected.

"What happened?" Lula asked. "She was getting the goods on this guy."

"He was trying to get this number," Connie realized. "He wanted to know who he was talking to. Guess he wanted to see what I looked like before he committed himself."

"He can't trace it, but once he realized that, he would have figured something was up." Manny said.

"Wait until he starts Googling images of Barbara Dahl at Tow Right," Connie laughed. "You'd think with a 175 IQ he would have got that one."

"I think his ego might have got in the way. Sounds like he's able to do just about anything he wants," I said.

"Cocky little shit," Lula added.

"No kidding," Connie said.

"But I can see how Joyce got her mitts on him. A computer geek with a high IQ and no social skills doesn't score with gorgeous women very often."

"Guess Lintz didn't learn his lesson," Lula noted. "He was spilling the beans to Connie. Not very smart."

"There's a difference between book smart and street smart. He's got to be a lousy cop. No instincts," Manny said.

Manny went to the laptop and started trimming the recording of the call. "Okay, we've got a file, but we shouldn't send it electronically. This guy is probably paranoid and monitoring everything."

"We need to send it untraceable," I said.

"I can send it encrypted to a friend in NYC and have him pay a courier cash to deliver it. That's the best way."

"Wait," Lula interrupted. "We didn't get any goods from him about Joyce. We don't even know why they divorced."

"We know why," I said. "She married him to get to Morelli. She wanted to break us up. And she divorced him when he was no longer effective. And I doubt she told him anything. She didn't tell the others. These were superficial relationships. There was nothing of substance here."

I paused, looking up at Connie, coming to a sudden realization. We were both thinking the same thing. I raced for my purse and came back with the photo I had clipped from the yearbook. "The only personal relationship she has is with her brother," I realized. "Kevin is the only person who would know what this is about!"

"Makes sense," Lula agreed.

"Makes a lot of sense," Connie nodded.

"So, we're not going to fry Lintz?" Lula asked, disappointed.

"Oh, yeah. We're gonna fry Lintz. He messed with Morelli. It's on," I growled, the new Stephanie taking control.

"That's what we like to hear!" Connie cried, jumping to her feet. "Send the dispatch!" she cried, her arm and index finger outstretched dramatically as she issued the order to Manny.

"Ten four," he answered with a grin.

"What?" Zero asked, sitting up suddenly startled. "What's going on?"

"It's nothing. We're just instigating a departmental shake up at the NYPD. Go back to sleep," Connie told him.

Zero jumped to his feet, staring at Manny. "Is she kidding?" he gasped, eyes wide.

"You wish," he grinned as he pressed send.


	29. The Return

With Zero awake, Manny wanted us to practice our defense strategy before he took a nap. He showed us that there was a crawl space underneath the kitchen sink. The flooring lifted out. It was impossible to see because it was dark and shadowy even in the daytime. It was a very unlikely place for intruders to look for a basement door. Zero went first to show us how to crawl down the stairs. He helped us all down the first time. It was a tight fit for Lula, but we all managed to get down, crawling head first down the wide, dusty stairs on our hands and knees. Once we were safely hidden, the flooring was replaced and the cabinet doors were closed. We could barely hear Manny and Zero going through the motions to secure the house and checking motion sensors and cameras. For all we knew, they had automatic weapons mounted to the roof. Nothing would have surprised me.

While we waited, I flashed the light around, studying the stone and mortar walls. There were large wooden support beams that had been carved with names and dates, going back to the 1800's. Most of the names were French, like Monique and Jean Pierre and Francois. I was intrigued by a detailed carving, probably done by a teen-ager with a pen knife. It was a coat of arms with three fleur de lis. On each side was an elephant, holding up the shield with their trunks. A compass hung like a jewel below the shield and a crown hovered above it.

I knew what friend Ranger had borrowed the safe house from. It belonged to his client, the royal descendant. My heart was pounding with the discovery, but I shined the light away before Connie or Lula noticed the carving. I promised Ranger I would keep his secrets. He trusted me.

We crawled up and down the stairs three more times until Manny was satisfied we could do it fast enough.

For dinner, we enjoyed fire roasted hot dogs and toasted marshmallows for dinner. Manny and Zero ate the hotdogs, so I figured they were turkey based. Manny and Zero passed on the hot dog buns and Manny refused the marshmallows, although Zero had one. They drank bottled water, and we drank Pepsi. Still, we all had a good time.

Since we were going to be awake for awhile, Manny went upstairs to sleep in my room. Zero started up the generator for an hour to recharge the electronics. He was watching the monitors, concerned with night fall and daybreak being the most opportune times for attack. I didn't see how anyone could possibly find us out here, but they had their orders, so I didn't argue.

When it got dark, Zero closed all the curtains and lit the oil lamps mounted on the walls. The mirrors behind them cast twice the light into the room. We checked out the books in the library again. I wasn't surprised a good number of the dusty old books were written in French. Among some of the newer additions to the library, Lula found a nice full-color book of paintings of turn of the 20th Century Paris. Connie was reading a book of love poems. I sided with Lula and chose a coffee table book filled with photographs of Henri Cartier-Bresson's trips to India.

The hours passed quickly. Lula and I swapped books and caught Connie dabbing her eyes with her shirt collar. We enjoyed our books until we were tired enough to sleep. Manny was back. He handed us each a flashlight, and we headed upstairs. We took turns in the bathroom as we got ready for bed.

Lula didn't fuss as much as we expected when she found Tank's clothes were all she had to wear. I guess it made her feel closer to her man, but she looked like a big black seal, and I don't mean the scary special forces kind. Lula and I had raided the kitchen for a midnight snack before turning in. We each had three cupcakes and a Pepsi. With a full stomach and a satisfied smile on her face, Lula reminded me of the lumbering, slow moving variety of seal you see at the zoo.

Connie more than filled out the men's medium shirt she was squeezed into. After ten minutes of discomfort, she had gone downstairs to find a pair of scissors. With a few snips, she made the shirt a V-neck to accommodate her cleavage. Zero noticed, but wisely kept his eyes on the monitors. The room was almost too warm from the fire. I'm pretty sure that was the reason for the fine sheen of sweat on his forehead.

Whoever built the house had known what he was doing. We didn't have a fireplace upstairs. Instead, the chimney split in two, and the heat from the fire downstairs radiated into the four rooms upstairs through the stone chimneys inside the interior walls. There were two ornate, cast iron vents in the wall near the floor on either side of my bed. I was toasty warm as long as I stayed away from the windows.

We had breakfast together downstairs around 8:00. Zero and Manny had both been awake before the sun came up, hyper-vigilant through the pre-dawn danger zone. That meant it was Manny's turn for a four hour nap. I offered to watch the monitors if they both wanted to sleep, but this got me a look that told me I wasn't officially Rangeman material. Like I wasn't qualified to watch monitors. I rolled my eyes at them, but didn't argue.

For the next four hours Manny was snoring loudly upstairs as Connie and Lula and I discussed ex-husband number six, Boris Bronfman, aka Bunchy the Bookie. Some of Joyce's ex's were scumbags, but I kind of liked Bunchy. And I guessed Ranger had too, or he wouldn't have offered him a job at Rangeman. Still, Bunchy had allowed Joyce to use him. Ranger didn't give specifics, but I suspected Bunchy wasn't authorized by the Treasury Department to go after Rangeman. He was probably fired when Ranger's attorney got involved. I suspected Bunchy's heart hadn't been in it and he came clean to Ranger. I didn't see much point in torturing Bunchy for information he didn't have. Still, I didn't feel like the case was closed. To lose a position with the Treasury Department and be left working mall security just because he fell victim to Joyce's evil charms didn't feel like the right ending.

Hank called, interrupting our brainstorming session. He had a lead. Three bikers had come into the store complaining about a new guy that couldn't figure out how to ride. They were filthy, covered in dust and dirt, sporting a few scrapes. They had swastikas on their necks and the backs of their hands, and he'd noticed one three leaf clover tat in prison blue ink, the symbol for the Aryan Brotherhood.

There was a dirt race track less than a mile away. If the Brotherhood was going to help Masterson escape Trenton, they would prefer to do it on motorcycles rather than using a car or SUV. If they got pulled over, the police would arrest everyone in the vehicle for aiding and abetting. If they were on motorcycles, it would be much harder to make those charges stick. For that matter, they would be pretty hard to catch if they chose to make a run for it.

Even though they didn't name Masterson, Hank figured he was the new guy they were trying to teach to ride, but the guy was dumb as a box of rocks. He apparently didn't know how to drive a stick, so he was having a hard time mastering the coordination necessary to shift gears on a motorcycle. I could drive stick and I could ride a motorcycle, but I understood the difficulty in learning a new skill, especially for someone like Masterson. He had to be drunk in order to function, and it's hard to teach fine motor skills to an intoxicated moron. If he was high on drugs too, up the difficulty factor.

"Murderers teaching murderers to ride a bike," Connie snorted. "That's classic."

"Maybe they should start him out on training wheels," I muttered.

"Maybe they'll get tired of his dumb ass and just shoot him," Lula said hopefully. "Then Vinnie can claim the body receipt."

"It's a possibility," I agreed.

"They might not be there long. What do you want to do? Hand it off to Vinnie, or give it to Morelli?" Connie asked.

"There's a third option," I said, warily. "I could give it to Joyce."

"Say what?" Lula jumped up. "You're not serious."

"Think about it," I said. "How would Joyce handle it?"

"Hmph. She'd go barging in there with a gun in her hand demanding her FTA," Lula said.

"Four to one. Odds are, those boys are armed, and we know they're dangerous," Connie said.

We all contemplated the possible outcomes for a minute.

"This is a serious situation," Connie agreed. "Giving her Masterson could get her killed."

"And Vinnie would be screwed," Lula answered. "And we'd be out a job."

"Yep." I blew out a sigh and called Morelli.

"Cupcake," he answered, not sounding surprised or happy to hear from me.

"I know where Masterson is right this minute. You can catch him if you hurry," I said, not wasting time on pleasantries.

"Where?"

"With at least three of the Aryan Brotherhood at a dirt racetrack near the Qwikie Mart in Hamilton Township."

"Where are you?"

"Out of town," I said.

"How far out of town?"

"Hundreds of miles."

"Alone?" Manny was sawing logs. I hadn't considered that when I called.

"With Connie and Lula," I answered. I wasn't lying. And, I could blame the snoring on Lula if I had to.

"Doing what?"

"Roasting marshmallows."

"Then how do you know where Masterson is?"

"A little bird told me."

"A stool pigeon?"

"Something like that."

"What about Vinnie?"

"To hell with Vinnie," I said. "Be careful. These guys are armed and dangerous, and I have no idea how many more may be at the track."

"I'll check it out. You want me to call you back when I have him?"

"Yes." I knew I sounded worried.

"Will do. Thanks for the tip." And he disconnected.

"That was big of you," Connie said. "And as long as Masterson is back in the system, Vinnie's in the clear, and he doesn't even have to pay Joyce."

"Morelli's always wanted me to stay out of the way and let him bring in the bad guys," I said. "Guess he finally got his wish."

An hour later, Manny was still snoring like a cave troll when the sat phone rang. We all went quiet as Zero answered.

"Yo. Yes, sir. Understood." Zero was on his feet, racing up the stairs. We heard him nudging Manny. "Evac in one hour."

"Ranger got Donaldson?" I asked as he bounded back down the stairs.

"Affirmative." Our bonding time with Zero and Manny was over. They were back to Rangeman protocol. Zero handed me the sat phone.

"Ranger?"

"Babe," he answered. He sounded less stressed.

"It's over?"

"It's over. You can come home now."

"Are you okay?"

"No problems," he said.

I went to the kitchen for a little privacy, closing the door behind me. "I know whose house this is," I told him, grinning.

"Babe," he moaned, as if to ask, "You didn't share our little secret, did you?"

"It's still our secret," I assured him.

"What gave it away?" he asked, curious.

I peeked out the door to make sure Connie and Lula weren't listening.

"In the hiding room, there was a carving on one of the wooden posts." I described it to him. "You borrowed this house from your royal client. Your French royal client," I said. "I assume we're in Quebec rather than in Maine. And I assume your helicopter brought us in close to the tree line and off the radar since I don't have a passport."

"Babe," he said, impressed. But just to let some of the air out of my swelled head, he added, "You don't need a passport to drive into Quebec."

"We flew into Quebec, and I'm pretty sure we bypassed customs," I shot back.

"Babe," he groaned. I was being a pain in the ass again.

"Just saying." I shrugged.

"Can we talk about this later? I need to check on something." Whatever it was, it sounded urgent. His tone had changed completely, going from playful to dead serious in 8.5 seconds.

"Sure."

"See you soon," he said, and he disconnected.

Manny was out the door, scrambling to get the equipment off the roof and from the surrounding forest.

The three of us ran upstairs to pack our bags and make our beds while Zero was in the kitchen stowing our food and cooking gear. When we came back down, he was busy putting out the fire in the hearth.

We were all packed up and ready to go, sitting together on the front porch when we heard the whoop-whoop-whoop of the helicopter in the distance.

"Ladies, it's been a pleasure," Manny said as he handed us all ear plugs.

There was no place to land, so we all had to go up by rope. Two other Rangemen were in the helicopter waiting for us. I recognized Junior by his sheer size. He was another steroidosauras who was virtually a clone of Cal without the tattoo on his forehead. The other was Eddie. His nearly-black skin bulged with toned muscles forged in the Marines.

Zero slipped Connie's foot in a loop in the rope and secured her waist with a safety harness. Then the winch raised her up to the open door of the helicopter where Junior helped her inside. Eddie was strapping her into a seat when I arrived. Lula went last.

"Oh, Lord!" she cried as the winch groaned a little with her weight. She was clinging to the rope for dear life as Junior pulled her inside with a little effort. True to form, Lula was practically catatonic. She didn't put her feet down. She was lowered in a sitting position until her butt hit the floor. She was shivering and shaking and staring straight ahead, eyes wide. Junior unceremoniously dragged her to her feet, unhooked the harness, and forced Lula into her seat beside me. She grabbed my hand in a death grip as Eddie strapped her in. After all the luggage was stowed, Zero and Manny joined us. The side door was slammed closed, and we took off into the dusky sky, staying close to the tree line for quite some time before ascending.

The ride was noisy and bumpy, and we were all glad when it was over. We expected to be returned directly to the roof at Rangeman, but Eddie explained that it wasn't necessary. The threat had been eliminated.

We landed at a private air strip. Four black Rangeman SUV's were waiting for us. We were each being taken home. Lula was escorted to the first vehicle driven by Slick. Connie was being driven by Binkie. Junior and Eddy got in the SUV loaded with the electronic gear. I wasn't sure where they were going. Probably to the Rangeman safe house the gear had been borrowed from. Zero and Manny and I were headed back to Rangeman.

I was feeling a little let down from the adrenaline rush. I relaxed into the passenger seat. Manny was driving again. We were headed down Hamilton towards the center of the city. None of us were talking. I was a little disappointed to be returning so soon. Now I was going to have to turn my thoughts back to my financial concerns, which is to say, I had no money at all and my rent was coming due. And I was a little worried that Joyce was already on to me by now. The old Stephanie was feeling a little apprehensive about going toe to toe with Joyce. The new Stephanie was thinking it was time to put bullets in my gun. But I had left it at home in the cookie jar, as usual. I breathed out a sigh.

The next thing I knew, there was a loud crash, and the world was upside down.


	30. The Trap

My ears were ringing, and the SUV was spinning slowly, the roof scraping the pavement. Suddenly, the motion stopped with a jolt and a pair of black boots swam into focus. I relaxed. It had to be Rangeman. I felt hands reach in and release my seatbelt. I was yanked out of the passenger window and pressed roughly against the hood of a white car. Not Rangeman, I realized too late. My hands were wrenched behind me and I heard and felt a zip tie being tightened around my wrists and another secured my ankles. I was dragged to the back of the car, and tossed in the trunk by a large Caucasian man with a reddish-brown mustache and goatee. He was wearing a black suit, which was in contrast to his military style hiking boots.

We were speeding away. I was immediately engaged in an internal struggle for control. The old Stephanie was in fight or flight mode. She was suggesting kicking and screaming. The new Stephanie was suggesting deep breathing and calmly trying to escape, using the element of surprise. The old Stephanie had got me into so many near death experiences, I decided to go with door number two this time. I did some deep breathing, and considered how I could get free of the zip ties. I was wearing a knife. A very sharp knife. I still had on the silver leaf necklace that Lester had given me. But I couldn't yank it free.

I did some deep breathing. I wiggled around, using gravity to encourage the pendant to hang behind my neck, down my back. Sitting up the best I could, I reached up with my hands to try to grasp the pendant. No luck. I was going to have to slip the necklace over my head to reach it. More deep breathing. I must have used every square inch of trunk space trying to wriggle free. Finally, I got the chain into my mouth and just ground it with my molars until the chain broke. I spit it out and scooted up and down, pushing the pendant down towards my hands, slowly, inch by inch. I finally had hold of it with my right hand. I opened the blade and lay on my side, slicing away at the zip tie until it popped loose. Then I cut my ankles free, congratulating myself on a job well done.

I slid the knife into my cargo pants pocket and started feeling around for the emergency release. I found it and waited for the next light. As soon as the vehicle came to a stop, I yanked the cord. The lid popped open and I jumped out, sprinting for the first brightly lit business sign I could see. There was a gas station on the corner across from us. I heard car doors slamming closed behind me and running footsteps. I didn't look back. I just ran for all I was worth. My heart was pounding and my lungs were burning.

I ran into the convenience store, looking for anything I could use as a defensive weapon. I grabbed an aerosol can of windshield de-icer from the impulse purchase display just inside the door. Then I snagged a lighter from the check out counter. I spun and torched the guy with the goatee right in the face as he pushed through the door. He screamed and put both hands over his face, backing up against the glass door, preventing the second guy from entering. When I finally removed my finger from the aerosol nozzle, and he took his hands away, we just stood there staring at each other for a beat. He looked a lot less like an evil college professor without his eyebrows, eye lashes and facial hair. In fact, his hairline had receded about three inches. All color had drained from his face. He looked a lot more like a Hari Krishna now, I thought. It almost made me smile, until the old Stephanie's flight instinct kicked in.

I ran through the store, knocking over a teenage boy who was making himself an order of nachos before I arrived. I bolted out the back door, racing across the alley and between buildings, emerging beside a small grocery store. I ducked inside, walked as calmly as I could, scanning the aisles, looking for an opportunity. I needed a car. This was life and death, and I would do my best to return the car in good condition, I vowed. I got lucky on the cereal aisle where a mom was arguing with a seven year old over a box of cereal. She already had five boxes in the cart. Her purse was sitting unattended about ten feet away from where they were having an all out tug of war with a box of Choc-O-Puffs. I walked past them, snagged the keys, and kept going, right out the front door. I pressed the unlock button, and climbed in the teal blue mini-van. I noticed a sippy cup in the cup holder and did a quick check of the back to be sure there weren't any other passengers in the car. Nope, just me.

I turned over the engine and raced to the Rangeman garage. I had no way to call ahead, no key fob, nothing, but I was determined to make it. I didn't see a tail, but I wasn't usually that lucky. Then again, I wasn't usually that fast. I circled Rangeman once, making sure I didn't have a tail, before pulling up to the gate. I buzzed the control room.

"Steph?" Ram asked.

"It's me. I'm fine. Open the gate," I said, nearly panicked. I felt exposed on the street.

"I can't. We're on the way down to you. Don't move. Stay in the vehicle."

He can't? Since when? My heart was racing. I heard the clatter of boots on the stairs, so my attention was on the door inside the garage when my door was yanked open.

"I've got her," Hal said into a Bluetooth.

Cal was with him. Hal dragged me to a waiting Rangeman SUV and pushed me inside, shutting the door and tapping the roof twice. We took off. I looked out the back window. Hal and Cal jumped into the blue van and drove away in the opposite direction we were going. I looked to see who was driving. It was Lester.

"What's happening?" I gasped to Lester. "I thought you guys got Donaldson!"

"We did. But what we didn't see was that the whole thing with Donaldson was a ruse, until you tipped us off."

"What?" My head was spinning. "Who's after us now?"

"Ranger thinks The Retriever set the whole thing up. There were three players. The client, The Retriever, and Donaldson. The Retriever used the client to get Ranger involved and to manipulate timing and location. He called in Donaldson to keep Rangeman busy. He relied on Donaldson's experience and knowledge, allowing him to devise a plan to eliminate Ranger, always expecting Ranger would eliminate the threat. Donaldson was expendable from the moment he explained his plans to The Retriever."

"The client was in on it?" I gasped. "Why didn't he just take us out at the safe house?"

"That was never the plan. The plan was knowing where you'd be and when. It was about creating the opportunity to strike. You are still the bait. You always were."

"Where's Ranger?" I sat up in alarm. "Does he know I escaped?"

"I don't know. When you told him about the clue you found at the safe house, he realized it was a set up. We changed plans, re-routing you to the airfield, and we changed the roads we normally would have used, but it's hard to hide a helicopter, even in the dark. We went light to pick you up because Ranger was leading a full assault team to another air field, to meet a decoy helicopter. But Donaldson must have anticipated that. The Retriever didn't fall for it."

"But I got away. Doesn't Ranger know I got away?"

"I don't know. He broke off contact the moment Zero called in that your vehicle had been hit and you were taken."

"Oh, God! Zero and Manny!" I couldn't believe I had forgotten about them, even for a second.

"They were taken by ambulance to St. Francis. They'll live," Lester said bluntly.

We were speeding down back streets in the dark.

"Where are we going?" I gasped, trying to crawl from the floor of the back seat into the passenger seat beside Lester. My hands were shaking too much to fumble with the seat belt. Lester leaned over and fastened it in one swift motion, returning immediately to his driving.

"Lester, where are we going?" We were entering an industrial area. "Is Ranger going to the one place they wanted him?" My heart felt like it stopped in my chest. He would. He'd sacrifice himself to save me. But I wasn't there. "Lester, talk to me!"

"We have to get there in time," Lester said, his knuckles white on the wheel. "Stop talking and trust me."

I gripped the arm rests of my seat and prepared myself for whatever was about to happen next. I did deep breathing, and then remembered there was a gun beneath my seat. This was a Rangeman vehicle. I reached down between my legs and felt around for the little compartment hiding the gun. I found it and sprung the latch. I pulled out a loaded .45 Glock. I made sure a round was chambered and slid it into the back of my waistband.

We tore into a parking garage, and started climbing, tires squealing as we headed for the roof.

"Are you willing to risk your life to save him?" he demanded.

"Yes!" I said, gripping the arm rests tightly as we leaned into the turn. "Anything!" No question.

"Stay right beside me," Lester ordered as we rolled onto the roof.

I unbuckled my seatbelt and jumped out of the vehicle when Lester did. He opened the back of the SUV, handed me a flack vest and pulled out a black box. I slipped into the vest and secured it while his deft fingers moved quickly, loading a flare gun. He raised it over his head and fired. There was a bang as the bright red flare lit up the night. We were clearly visible to anyone who was looking. We were out in the open, and we were in danger.

There was a crackling sound coming from Lester's earpiece. "Get down!" It was Ranger's voice.

"You're clear to fire," Lester told him, pressing me down on my stomach onto the pavement. He covered me with his body, and the sound of heavy artillery fire echoed once. Then the night exploded into light. It was bright as day for a moment, and I could see Lester's face looking back at me."

"Ranger!" I screamed, trying to get up.

"Stay down," Lester ordered. I struggled helplessly against his firm grip.

"He took the shot! His one shot!" I screamed. "No!"

Fire shot out of the upper floors of a high rise office building a mile away. Burning debris floated on the night air as sirens wailed in the distance. I sobbed in silence while Lester held me tight. There was no crackle of confirmation from Lester's earpiece. There was no action plan being executed to evacuate us from the rooftop of the parking garage. I could tell that Rangeman was off script.

From his silence, I knew Lester wasn't sure Ranger had made it out alive. I pressed my face against the cold pavement and sobbed.


	31. The Weak Link

Lester scooped me up and carried me to the SUV. He opened the passenger door and slid me into my seat, buckling me in. He held my face in his hands for a beat, looking at me with a serious expression.

"He's the best," he whispered, his voice nearly cracking with emotion.

"I know," I whispered back.

"We won't give up on him. Not now. Okay?" he said more loudly, almost forcefully.

"Okay," I choked out.

"He saw you," he assured me. "He wouldn't risk it if," he broke off. "He knows you're alive."

I nodded, unable to answer.

He backed away, closing the door and went around to secure the back before climbing into the driver's seat. He turned the engine over, and we were in motion. The entire night had been a blur of deafening noise and vibration and jerky movement from the time Manny said, "It's been a pleasure," to the moment my heart stopped beating. Now, it was like I had hit the sound barrier. Everything felt smooth as glass, silent, and eerie as we glided through the night. The panic had been left behind, replaced by something I had never felt before. Something more than determination, more than courage. I had passed a point of no return. I was fully committed to whatever was about to happen. This must have been what Ranger felt when he was out on a mission. I knew he would know this feeling, this sensation, whatever it was. And it made me feel closer to him, in a way I had never thought possible.

We slid through the darkness, but not towards Rangeman. I didn't even care where we were going. I trusted Lester. About a mile outside of town, he shifted into four-wheel-drive and we went off-road, lights off, through fields and across a shallow creek bed, past an old cemetery, around the edge of an abandoned quarry, and finally stopped when the short wave crackled, "Identify."

"Bravo. I brought donuts. No coffee."

If it were any other day, I would have thought my code name was insulting and I would have pitched a fit and given Lester hell for it, but I knew Ranger was coffee, and the thought of no coffee made my heart sick. I didn't feel anything registering, not even surprise.

My eyes had grown accustomed to the dark and I was able to make out three other Rangeman SUVs on the ridge. I saw two men lying on their bellies with large sniper rifles trained on us, or at least, pointed in our general direction...aimed toward the path we had taken. This was the Rangeman rally point.

"Copy, Bravo. Coffee's brewing."

I whipped around to look at Lester. "What does that mean?"

"Copy," he answered. Turning to me he said, "It means he'll be done soon."

"But he's not done yet," I gathered, breathing a little easier. Someone must have seen Ranger or communicated with him in some way.

Lester put the vehicle back in gear and we proceeded up the rocky slope to a an overlook, bouncing and sliding on the gravel, until we joined the others. I was surprised when Zero opened my door for me. I stood on the running board and threw my arms around his neck.

"I'm so glad you're okay," I whispered.

Zero wasn't sure he should return the hug, so he just stood still but didn't pull back. "We're okay. Don't worry about us," he said.

"Is Manny here?" I asked, pulling back. I didn't even have tears. Zero seemed grateful for that.

"He's resting on four. He took the airbag in the face, and bruised his ribs. Minor cuts and scrapes, mild concussion. But he'll be okay. We were more worried about you."

"What about you?" I asked, looking him over. "What happened? I didn't even see the other car."

"There was no other car. It was a shaped charge planted on the road. It was already there, waiting for us. No way we could have known, or even seen it in the dark."

"How could they know what road we were taking? How many bombs were there?" I gasped.

"Don't know yet."

"Is that what Ranger's doing right now? Cleaning up roadside bombs in downtown Trenton?"

"Need to know," he answered, helping me down. I wasn't sure if that meant he didn't know, or I didn't need to know. It probably meant both. Zero was a good soldier. He didn't ask too many questions.

I closed my door and followed Zero through the dark. He guided me to a folding canvas chair and brought me a bottle of water, then disappeared into the mix of men on the ridge. There were no lights, just a dim moon cutting through the clouds for a few seconds at a time before disappearing again.

I felt a hand on my shoulder as Caesar crouched down beside me.

"I guess you can run when you have to," he said. I could hear him smiling at me.

"How do you know I was running?" I asked, not quite having found humor yet.

"Police scanner."

"Great," I groaned. "Am I a wanted criminal?"

"Don't think so," he said. "Ram called Morelli. He agreed to lose the surveillance footage from the supermarket. And he recovered the van a little while ago. There weren't any prints."

"What? Why? It's not his case. He's homicide. He doesn't deal with stolen mini-vans."

"No, but he said he owed you one, for Masterson. Wasn't that your skip?"

"Was, past tense. I'm not a bounty hunter anymore."

"Yeah, that's what Ram told me."

"So, Morelli brought in Masterson?" I asked, my curiosity bumping up a notch.

"Masterson and five others wanted on warrants, plus two for resisting," he chuckled. "From what I hear, Morelli went charging onto the dirt track in Hamilton Township with SWAT, local PD, Staties, and a paddy wagon." He narrowed his eyes at me, doing a two-handed drum-roll on the arm of my chair. "Knick-knack-paddy-whack, did ya throw that boy a bone?"

"Maybe," I whispered.

"I knew it," he grinned, pulling back and standing. "You're one unpredictable dame."

"Thanks, I guess."

"I mean it," he said, and he was lost in the shuffle too.

I looked out into the distance, trying to feel Ranger. He was out there somewhere doing God only knows what. I could see that the fire was out. There was no longer a red glow downtown. Police and ambulance sirens sounded here and there. Cars raced along the freeway. Horns honked. There was an occasional burst of gunfire. The normal sounds of Trenton.

"Identify," Vince said into the short wave.

"Charlie," Tank's low tones answered.

"Copy."

"Do you have coffee or donuts?" Tank asked. Apparently Rangeman was running radio silent outside the short wave radio. Tank didn't know where Ranger was. My heart thudded in my chest again.

"Donuts, no coffee," Vince answered.

"I'll make a coffee run," he said, and I could hear his vehicle turning around on the gravel.

"Ten-four," Vince signed off.

Lester came back over to me.

"Okay, I've got some speculative information," he told me, squatting down beside me.

"I'll take anything you can give me right now," I said, desperate for something to cling to.

"Ranger told you about the 3-D computer modeling they were working on?" he whispered, leaning close.

"Yeah. They were trying to find that one spot Donaldson wanted to lure Ranger to, so they could be planning their own moves."

"The computer model returned five possibles. Ranger chose two based on his knowledge of Donaldson. And when you called in your tip, he narrowed it down to one."

"Ranger knew where Donaldson wanted him," I repeated, indicating to Lester that I was following along. "But Donaldson's dead."

"Donaldson's dead. The Retriever isn't. He's running Donaldson's play, using Donaldson's playbook," Lester explained.

"Donaldson was talking about knowing what roads Ranger would take, forcing him to take the route he would lay out for him, to put him in that one spot where," my voice broke.

Lester nodded. "We didn't see them place the charges on the road. There are several ways they could have got it done, and we couldn't watch the entire city every second. We couldn't guess how they were planning to direct Ranger's path, or at what time. That's why Ranger opted not to play that game."

"How did Donaldson die?" I asked, careful how I phrased the question.

"He had an unfortunate allergic reaction," he said. I understood that if I wanted anything more, I'd have to ask Ranger.

"What was Ranger's plan?" I asked. "I mean, if he knew where Donaldson wanted him, didn't he have a plan, in case Donaldson managed to force him to that point?"

"I'm sure Ranger had a plan, but he didn't share it with me," Lester said. I believed him.

"He'd go it alone," I realized.

"Alone, or with Tank. Bobby and I have a duty to Rangeman."

"I understand."

"He was still working with the 3-D modeling, even earlier today," he whispered. "And he saw you. He knew you were safe. He'll be back soon." Lester rubbed my back soothingly.

I nodded.

The men were scanning the area with night vision goggles and thermal imaging. I could make out ammo boxes and saw men walking in and out of an opening in the rock wall behind us. We could use the remnants of the stone quarry as a concrete bunker, I assumed. There were stacks of bottled water and coolers probably full of sandwiches and fruit. And there were probably MRE's stockpiled inside as well, in case we had to stay the month. My black bag from Ella was no doubt somewhere nearby. I felt my lip twitch at the thought of putting my flannel nightgown back on. Wouldn't that make Ranger smile when he got back. But it wouldn't match my black boots.

Click. The guy chasing me in the boots that didn't match his suit. The guy I torched.

"Les!" I called out, standing up, squinting into the darkness.

"Steph," he answered, coming towards me. "What is it?" he asked quietly, indicating for me to keep my voice down.

"The guy that yanked me out of the SUV. You know I torched him in the face, right?"

"You what?"

"This guy with a mustache and goatee, wearing a suit and army boots, yanked me out of the SUV and zip-tied me and tossed me in the trunk of a white car."

"Zero called in that you were taken by two men in a white Buick. That's all we got."

"Why was he wearing a suit with army boots?" My mind was racing. "And the C-4 was planted on an upper floor of an office building. So, he'd need to be wearing a suit to blend in there. But why was he wearing army boots?" I looked around at the terrain where we were standing.

"I don't know," Lester answered. He was hearing me, and he was thinking, but he was coming up blank. "We're watching the area. We've swept the vehicles for trackers. We're secure here."

"Identify," I heard Vince ask again.

"Alpha Charlie." It was Ranger and Tank.

"Copy. We have donuts."

"Ten four." Ranger answered.

I squinted into the darkness, trying to focus on the dark vehicle approaching. It appeared to be Rangeman's dark green '93 Explorer. Ranger only used it when he needed to go incognito. It wasn't new or black or shiny. Tank's SUV was right behind him.

"Grossman," I said, grabbing Lester's arm. "You remember, the World's Strongest Man wanna-be? Ranger was concerned about Grossman being Donaldson's informant. Someone from Rangeman might have given something away to Grossman that Donaldson could use."

"You think this site is compromised?" Lester asked seriously, pulling me into him as if hugging me. "Do you have a guess as to who the snitch would be?"

"Grossman was a champion weight lifter. He's huge. Like Hal, or Cal, or Junior," I whispered. "Hal would be the most likely to be tricked if Cal wasn't around. When was this site selected?"

"It's been used for training in the past. It's been tested, which is why we chose to use it."

"Was Hal aware of this site?"

"All three knew of it. None of us knew we were using it until tonight."

"But Donaldson might have guessed. He might have known Ranger well enough to guess the site, just like Ranger knew Donaldson well enough to eliminate possibilities presented by the computer model."

I turned to see Ranger's Explorer coming into view.

"If he didn't get both The Retriever and the client, he may still be in danger," I said, desperately.

"I agree," Lester said, grabbing goggles from the nearest man and hitting the dirt beside Binkie who was manning a sniper rifle.

"We've got incoming," Lester told him. "Steph's sure."

Binkie hunkered down, focusing, breathing. "Direction?"

"I'm looking," Lester said, scanning the area with renewed vigor.

Ranger had reached our vehicles, and I race towards him. He looked tired, but there was nothing singed or even smelling of smoke on him.

"Babe," he said, his arms suddenly around me, holding me tight.

"We're in danger here," I told him. "You have to trust me. The client knows we're here."

Our eyes met, and he didn't ask any questions. He reached out and grabbed Caesar. "Take her inside. Now," he ordered. Caesar would have carried me if I hadn't complied. I did my job. I alerted Lester and Ranger. I stumbled along up the incline with Caesar as he pressed me towards the cave-like entrance ahead. Looking back over my shoulder, I saw Ranger pulling another large rifle out of the back of the Explorer. Then the cloud cover returned, and he was lost in the shuffle, lost in the darkness below us.

There was no way the client could make it up here with Rangeman on the lookout. What if he had the suit on because he was retrieving some of the C-4 from the office? What if he wasn't planning to follow Ranger here. What if he'd already been here? How would he know when to detonate the explosives? He couldn't know. If he could see Rangeman, Rangeman would be able to see him.

My blood ran cold. I reached out for Caesar, patting him down, looking for his Maglite. All Rangemen carried a Maglite. Caesar froze, not sure what I was doing.

I found it and switched it on, shining it on the few surprised faces inside the shelter.

"Where's Hal?" I asked. "Hal!" I called out.

"Steph, you have to turn that off!" Caesar cried, trying to grab the light from me.

"We have to find Hal, right now!" I ordered. "I think he's wearing a remote detonator."

Caesar looked at me like I was nuts.

"Look!" I said, shining the light to the entrance. There were several blobs of putty pressed into the natural fissures of the stone. If the C-4 was blown, a mountain or rock would bury our men down below. There would be no chance of escape. And those inside would be buried alive or trapped in the cave-in.

"Hal!" Caesar called out, following me at a run. "He was here just a minute ago."

"Where?" I asked, panting.

"On the far side, away from the blast zone,." he said, realization kicking in.

My heart sank. I wanted to call down to Ranger, but there wouldn't be time. If Hal heard me, he'd have time to press the button. But he couldn't be a traitor. Hal was a little gullible sometimes, but I just couldn't believe he would destroy Rangeman on purpose.

Caesar and I rounded the corner, moving away from danger and out of ear-shot of the men below. Caesar stopped short, coming face to face with Hal in the darkness.

"Hal!" I gasped, running into Caesar. "Stand still."

"I know what I'm doing," he said.

I was dumbfounded. "What are you saying?" I asked, struggling to get past Caesar's outstretched arm that was holding me back.

"You all think I'm stupid. But I'm not."

"I don't think you're stupid," I gasped. "Hal, you're one of my favorite people. Don't you know that?"

"You called me 'Hale To The Chief'."

I tried to laugh. "Yeah, and I called myself 'I Need A Beer Now'," I told him. "I was just being funny. I wasn't making fun of you."

"The men were laughing at me because I didn't even know it was a stupid name," he said, obviously hurt.

"I'm so sorry," I told him. "I never meant to hurt your feelings, Hal."

"It doesn't matter. It's too late," he said. "I can't change my mind now. You'll tell Ranger."

"No. I won't. It's fine. Really. What if I tell you something I don't want Ranger to know, and then we'll be square. I won't tell, and you won't tell."

Hal looked at Caesar. "What about him?"

"He's not even here," I said.

"No," Hal decided. "I'm not falling for any more tricks."

Caesar reached for his sidearm, but Hal was faster. He knocked the gun away and reached out, picking Caesar up by the throat. Hal could rip the engine out of a car with his bare hands. He was going to kill Caesar without even trying.

"No!" I screamed.

Without thinking, I ducked down between Hal's legs, sliding on the gravel. I popped up behind him, wrapping one arm around his neck, my legs around his waist, and pressing the .45 from my waistband into his temple.

"Put him down!" I ordered.

Hal froze.

"Down!" I repeated.

Hal opened his fist and Caesar's limp body fell to the ground. It was just me and Hal.

"There's one in the chamber," I promised him.

"Just do it," he said.

"I don't want to," I told him. "We can figure this out."

"No," he said.

"Why? You would murder all of your friends because you think they were laughing at you? Don't you know how much they enjoy having you around?"

"To laugh at," he said angrily.

"That's not true and you know it. Come on, Hal. You all laugh at me, all the time," I told him. "Sometimes it makes me angry. But I still love each and every one of you."

"I have a new job now," he said lamely.

"No, you don't. You're part of Rangeman. Whatever Grossman told you, it's a lie."

"Grossman understands me."

"Grossman is dead," I told him.

"What?" Hal growled.

"You heard me. There is no more Grossman."

"You're lying," he bellowed, trying to shake me off. "He told me you'd try to trick me. I'm not falling for it. Not this time!"

He was reaching around for something, but my leg was in the way. I couldn't see what it was.

"Babe!" Ranger barked sharply, appearing out of nowhere.

The inflection of Ranger's voice said, 'Get out of the way, now!". So I dropped, hitting the ground and rolling away just as Hal pulled a cell phone from his pocket. I knew it had to be the detonator. I raised the .45 and caught Hal in the right shoulder as Ranger's shot hit his left hand. Hal dropped the phone, and Ranger was on him, knocking him to the ground. Caesar was crawling away from them with the phone in his hand, struggling to get to his feet. I ran to help him, making sure he was able to breathe while Tank joined Ranger. They were losing the struggle. Hal was desperately trying to free himself when Cal arrived. Even three on one, they were glad to see Hector arrive with a medical kit. I was betting it contained more sleepy-time juice. I just hoped they had enough.

Moments later, Hal stopped struggling, and Tank and Ranger fell back, catching their breath while Cal and Hector started administering first aid.

"That did not just happen," Caesar choked out.

"It's been that kind of day," I said, wrapping his arm around my shoulder as we headed back to start the evacuation.

Five minutes later, an unconscious Hal was on his way to St. Francis to have his wounds treated. Ranger was going to follow so he could take care of the paperwork to have Hal admitted for psychiatric evaluation. I wanted to stay with Hal, but Ranger wanted me back on seven, and I was just about too tired to argue.

He walked me to Lester's SUV, pressing me up against the passenger door.

"You got The Retriever?" I asked.

"Yeah."

"What happened?"

"He appeared to be holding you in a walk-way connecting a lower level parking structure to a nearby office building. The hallway had dirt and concrete on all sides, with a narrow window of access through the clear sky light. Let's just say, we'd been there before."

"And you could only see him from one office in one office building," I assumed. "One shot."

"He left me a message telling me where he was and where I needed to be. He was expecting me to be three quarters of a mile straight ahead of his position. But the windows of the office building were tinted. We used the model to calculate a location where I could use the refraction as a mirror, so I could see into the passage way to calculate his actual position."

"You weren't even in the office building?"

"Nowhere close."

"Where were you?"

"Six hundred yards to his left."

"And you thought he had me?"

"Until I saw the flare and saw you with Lester, yes."

"But you could see him."

"He was holding had a woman at gunpoint in front of him. She had a dark pony tail and duct tape on her face. I knew you had been taken. I couldn't tell it wasn't you."

"But then you saw me, and you knew it wasn't me. What happened? Did you shoot him? And if you weren't in the office building, why did the office blow up?"

"I saw you, but I already had him. It was after hours. We verified the office building was empty several minutes before the explosion. I shot a high-explosive incendiary round into the office to trigger the C-4. Witnesses would attribute any additional noise to the explosion."

"But if the window was mirrored, you couldn't see where the C-4 was. How did you hit it?"

"Babe, I didn't have to. It was a custom made 50 caliber explosive round. I made sure it would do enough damage to set off the charges, wherever they were."

"Then you took out The Retriever."

"I verified his position, and removed him."

"Through dirt and concrete walls? From 600 feet?"

"AS50, Babe. And I already patched the hole."

"And the woman?"

"Scared as hell, but unharmed. She worked in the ticket booth in the garage. She thinks the CIA just removed a terrorist threat, and she needs to keep quiet about it."

"And the client?"

"The client has no where to go, especially looking like he does." Ranger's mouth twitched. He knew my handiwork when he saw it. "Homeland security is looking for him. He won't make it back across the border. But he'll try."

"But we," I started, but I was cut off my a bone melting kiss.

"We, have unfinished business."

[much more to come...stay tuned.]


	32. The Code

I walked into Ranger's apartment on seven. It felt both strange to be back and comforting. I checked on Rex. Ella had been feeding him veggies and he even had a little block of alfalfa to chew on.

"She's spoiling us," I told him. Rex jumped on his wheel and ran at top speed to indicate his approval of the new Rangeman lifestyle to which he had become accustomed. Then again, maybe he was just excited because it was the midnight hour, his favorite time to be running.

I glanced longingly at the fridge. But one look at my hands, and I decided I should get cleaned up first. I was filthy from head to toe with dirt and sweat, but the sweat was less from fear than from running. I had been afraid for Ranger's safety more than for my own.

I undressed and stood in the hot shower, thinking back over all that had happened since my last shower on Sunday night. It was now the early hours of Wednesday morning. Overall, I felt good about how I had handled myself tonight. Escaping the trunk, torching the client, making it back to Rangeman instead of calling for help, and because of that, being in time to help Ranger and stop Hal. I had been confident tonight. I had taken control. And I liked how it felt. I wondered if this new Stephanie was a direct result of taking on Joyce. What would it feel like once I had finished this mission, I wondered? Holy cow!

And I liked the way Ranger's eyes felt on mine. He trusted me, as much as he trusted Tank. We had been forging this bond for years. We had both invested in it, and now...now what?

I toweled off, and went to the closet for a pair of sweats and a t-shirt. Of course, the t-shirt might have been from the dirty pile, and it might not have been mine. But it smelled great.

I was headed for the fridge when I was stopped in my tracks by the sight of a covered dish sitting on the dining room table. Ella had been here while I was in the shower. I sat down, mouth watering, and lifted the lid. It was my favorite French Toast. Perfect. And across from me, another covered dish in Ranger's spot. He would be home soon. I lowered the lid back down on my plate, determined to wait for him. I padded into the kitchen for something to drink and found coffee brewing. I figured it was decaf, but I didn't care. I poured us each a cup, leaving his black. There was a new sugar bowl on the counter and creamer in the fridge, just for me. I smiled, the warm rush of being welcome here returning.

I was just setting the coffee on the table when I heard Ranger tossing his keys into the silver tray in the hall.

"Dining room," I called out.

Ranger appeared at the end of the hall, looking in at me, not surprised to see the meal waiting on him.

"Ella was here," I told him.

"I know. I called it in," he said. "Give me five minutes."

"Sure."

Ranger only took three. He must have been hungry. But it was worth the wait. His hair was wet, he had a sexy five o'clock shadow, and he was wearing sweats, which meant he wasn't going to be running out the door anytime soon.

He sat down opposite me and lifted the lid from his plate. Spanish omelet and a wedge of wheat toast, side of strawberries and apple.

We ate in companionable silence. Ranger was studying me, and I wasn't sure what he was thinking, just that he was. And it wasn't that I minded, but I really wanted to hear his voice. I just wanted to talk. So I began with a question.

"Why was the coat of arms I found in the safe house important?" I asked, idly stirring my coffee.

"Because there was no reason for elephants to be supporting the coat of arms of the House of Bourbon-Orleans. My client passed inspection. He is of the House of Bourbon. And, being French, I wasn't too surprised by the offer to use his hideaway in French Quebec. But the elephants point to a different branch of the family altogether. Bourbon-Bhopal. A royal line that fled to India. And that's when the red flag started waiving, because India is where Donaldson and I were on mission together for the last time."

"What about The Retriever?"

"He's French Canadian. He didn't have anything to do with India, but he was the common thread between the client and Donaldson. He's the one who orchestrated the whole thing. I might have underestimated him."

"So, this all happened because The Retriever wanted to get rid of you?"

"I suspect they were all equally motivated to remove me. And they figured they had a better chance if they worked together. And they were right."

"Except, it wasn't three against one. It was you and Me and Tank and Bobby and Lester and Ram and Silvio and Zero and Manny, and everyone at Rangeman." I looked down at my empty plate, a lump in my throat. "And Hal," I whispered.

Ranger blew out a sigh. "I talked to Hal myself after we ID'd Grossman. I thought he understood the situation, and I didn't get any indication from him that there was a problem. But Grossman and Donaldson had already got to him before we even knew things were in motion. It wasn't hard for them to put ideas in his head, and then manipulate him into thinking we were all against him." Ranger took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. "I always worried about hiring Hal. But having him partnered with Cal most of the time seemed like a good fit. I thought it was working out. I didn't realize he was unhappy."

"Maybe he wasn't until Grossman convinced him that he should be."

"That's what I think too," Ranger said.

"Did you get to talk to Hal at the hospital?"

"For a few minutes."

"Will Hal be coming back to Rangeman?" I asked nervously.

"I don't know yet. If he does, he'll have to earn it back. It's not just my decision to make."

"I told him Grossman was dead," I remembered.

"He is."

"I kind of wondered if you were going to, you know, dispatch the entire team."

Ranger shot me a concerned look, then stood and cleared our plates. He brought the pot and re-filled our coffee, then went back to the kitchen. I waited patiently for him to return. He brought my creamer and sugar bowl, sitting them beside me before slipping back into his chair.

"I think we need to talk about what I do."

My eyes widened a little at that. "I know what you do. And I know you're a good man. I know you have a code, and you live by that code. And I trust you."

"You don't even know what my code is."

"I know you," I said, my eyes meeting his.

"Good," he said. "But I don't ever want you to be in a situation where someone makes you wonder about me."

"You don't want someone to be able to lie to me and manipulate me the way Grossman did with Hal," I thought out loud.

"Babe, unless you understand my code, you can't fully understand what happened between me and Donaldson, or why a member of the Bourbon-Bhopal family is involved.

"Ok," I said. "What is your code?"

"It's pretty simple, but it will take some time to explain."

I nodded.

"Have you ever heard of the Ranger's Creed?"

"Ranger's lead the way!" I said, pumping my fist in the air for emphasis.

"No," he said. "That's the motto, not the creed."

I was a little embarrassed. I was in love with a man who went by the name Ranger. You would think I would know more about his military background.

"It's an acronym," he said, reciting it for me.

_R is for Recognizing that I volunteered as a Ranger, fully knowing the hazards of my chosen profession, I will always endeavor to uphold the prestige, honor, and high esprit de corps of my Ranger regiment._

_A is for Acknowledging the fact that a Ranger is a more elite soldier, who arrives at the cutting edge of battle by land, sea, or air, I accept the fact that as a Ranger, my country expects me to move further, faster, and fight harder than any other soldier._

_N is for Never shall I fail my comrades. I will always keep myself mentally alert, physically strong, and morally straight, and I will shoulder more than my share of the task, whatever it may be, one hundred percent and then some._

_G is for Gallantly will I show the world that I am a specially selected and well trained soldier. My courtesy to superior officers, neatness of dress, and care of equipment shall set the example for others to follow._

_E is for Energetically will I meet the enemies of my country. I shall defeat them on the field of battle for I am better trained and will fight with all my might. Surrender is not a Ranger word. I will never leave a fallen comrade to fall into the hands of the enemy and under no circumstances will I ever embarrass my country._

_R is for Readily will I display the intestinal fortitude required to fight on to the Ranger objective and complete the mission, though I be the lone survivor._

"This is what I ask of every man who joins Rangeman," he explained. "But, there's just a little more."

"What more could there be?" I wondered.

"It's easy to say we're faster, stronger, fight harder, that we're elite. But a sense of ambiguity tries to creep in around 'morally straight'. The Ranger's Creed talks about the Ranger objective. It doesn't say killing men on the battlefield. It doesn't define what a battlefield is, or what methods we may use. It doesn't list a chain of command to determine who decides what the Ranger objective is for each mission. You and I know what it is intended to convey. But men like The Retriever and Donaldson don't share our definition of 'morally straight'.

I nodded. "That's why you said you have your own code. No marriage. No pregnancy. Nothing non-consensual. But you will move in on another man's woman."

"Babe," he groaned. "I was just messing with you."

"That's not part of your code?"

"You freak out about marriage. I've already offered to get you pregnant. I said I'd act on partial-consent because you like being pushed a little. And you weren't married to Morelli when I called you his woman.

"Yes, I have a code that I live by. But I didn't choose my code because it gives me the most satisfaction or ensures that I enjoy my life more. I didn't choose a code that says if I can take something, it's mine. Including a life."

"No. Because you know the difference between right and wrong."

"How do I know the difference?" he asked. It was a rhetorical question.

"The law," I said. "You trust the system."

"If that were true, I would have called the police and reported the threat against your life. Do you think I trust the system to handle something like that?"

I shook my head.

"We need the law, to keep honest people honest. People need boundaries in order to live together in community. But there are people who have no intention of living in community with other people. They want to set themselves apart from it, to rise above it. And there are those who are born to protect the community from those individuals. And that requires a sacrifice, a separation from community."

I nodded. "I know. Your lifestyle doesn't lend itself to relationships."

"My lifestyle doesn't lend itself to living a normal life. I have relationships. But outside of Rangeman, I don't have as much time to devote to them as I might like. You know this."

"I know. But I understand."

"I know you do, Babe. I'm not pushing you away. You're here. You've become part of me, part of my life, and part of Rangeman. I'm just explaining who I am."

I nodded.

"Every major religion promotes some kind of behavior, of morality. All of the major religions recognize the Ten Commandments have merit." He looked at me knowingly. "You go on and on about your Catholic guilt, but you can't even list them."

"I can too," I said, reflexively.

"Name them."

"Do not kill. Do not commit adultery."

The corner of Ranger's mouth twitched. We both knew I was well versed in those two. "Keep going."

"Do not steal. Do not lie. Do unto others as you would have them do unto you."

"That last one was 'The Golden Rule', Babe. That's not one of the Ten Commandments."

"Well, it kind of is."

"Ok, I'll give you that one. That's five."

I was stumped. I started counting on my fingers.

"Just admit you don't know already," Ranger said, mentally rolling his eyes at me.

"I don't know them," I realized "Holy crap!" I cursed, then thunked myself in the forehead with the palm of my hand. "Don't take the Lord's name in vain."

"Yeah, you aught to know that one," he agreed.

"Give me a hint," I begged.

"There's one for the weekend."

"Don't drink?"

He grinned. "Remember the Sabbath day, to keep it holy."

"Oh, yeah. Ok. Another hint?"

"You forgot the most important one."

"More important than do not kill?"

"You do understand that the commandments are all of equal importance, don't you? Murder is just as bad as lying on the witness stand."

"Well, murder will get you a heck of a lot more Hail Mary's than a little white lie," I said.

Ranger smiled. "Yeah. But you're not supposed to break any of them."

"Then how can one be the most important?"

"Because it comes first for a reason. It's foundational."

"What's the first one?" I asked, blowing out a sigh.

"'Worship only God. That means you have to know who God is. You have to know what you believe in, or you won't have an anchor. You'll just be chasing after things with no clear purpose in life."

"What's the second most important?" I wondered.

"For the sake of argument, let's say it's your Golden Rule. Love your neighbor as yourself. A wise man once said, if you do those two things, the rest take care of themselves."

"Who said that?"

"Jesus."

"Well, excuse me! I'm just asking," I blurted out. "You're the one who started it."

"Babe. Jesus said it."

"Oh," I said, surprised. "I didn't peg you for a religious nut."

"I'm not. I'm telling you that this is my code. And I chose this code because it's never been wrong. Ever. Historically great men have held to this code, and I want to be one of those men. When I follow this code, I end up opening offices in city after city, until I can't even keep up. I end up bringing in the bad guys. And I find a woman I can't live without. A woman who really sees me, and who knows what I'm about."

I was paying attention, but I was still counting on my fingers.

"Babe."

"I just need two more."

"Only worship Yahweh. Do not make idols. Do not blaspheme. Take one day a week for rest. Make your parents proud. Do not murder. Do not have sex with another man's wife. Do not steal. Do not commit perjury. Be content with what you have." He looked at me intently. "Stop counting and listen."

"Sorry." I wrapped my hands around my coffee cup and focused on Ranger's dark eyes.

"I joined the army to learn to fight. I volunteered for the Rangers because I was made for this. Everything in me wanted to be the best. I wanted to fight. That's something that's in me, and I needed to find a proper channel for that. And I believe I did. God made men for war, just like he made men for every other job a society needs. I've read the Bible a number of times. Men of God went to war. The prophets of God even killed men when there was a reason. God himself wipes people out throughout the Bible. He gets angry. He takes lives. And he's God and he's perfect. Righteous anger isn't a sin. Protecting lives isn't wrong. Murder is killing for gain or pleasure. I have never murdered anyone. Not ever. And neither have you. I go willingly into these situations, where you don't. And I take satisfaction in a job well done. But I don't take pleasure in killing. You understand that difference?"

I nodded.

"It gets complicated when you go into a war zone and find yourself in a fire fight with the very people you went in to protect. You've never chased an FTA into a house and found yourself shooting his children because they were firing a gun at you."

I felt my jaw slacken and my stomach roll. "In that village, with the dog, with Donaldson?"

"To me, being the best means separating the murderers from the civilians whenever possible. But there are times when it isn't possible. I've seen men practice that old saying, 'Shoot them all and let God sort them out.' God gave us amazing abilities, to be able to think and plan and figure out some way to do a better job than that. And I take that responsibility very seriously. But there were times in my military experience when I didn't get to choose who I worked with or who gave the orders. That's why I got out when I did."

"Like with Orin?"

"Orin and Donaldson weren't the only ones I disagreed with."

"Did you follow your orders, when they were bad orders?"

"If failure to carry out my orders to the best of my ability would mean that the lives of other Rangers would be lost, I carried out my orders. In the few situations where it would have cost me my life alone, something always intervened. I took that as a sign. If our lives were not in danger, and I could spare lives, I did, even if I was disobeying an order. But that was a rare opportunity. Most of the time, I just focused on keeping it quick, quiet, and painless."

"But not Donaldson."

"Not Donaldson. He had been undercover gathering intel in India for a while before my team was called in to extract him. He was having a hard time getting out, or so it seemed."

"He wasn't gathering intel?"

"Oh, he was. He was gathering all kinds of intel, for himself."

"To further his career?"

"To further his new career as son-in-law to one of the most powerful men in the region," Ranger answered. "I was leading a team. We realized they were planning a wedding and we decided it would be best to extricate him prior to taking his nuptial vows. If I were in his position, I'd be pissed if someone rescued me after the vows but before the bridal chamber," Ranger said, teasing a little.

"And it wouldn't be morally right to take Donaldson after the wedding night, leaving his newly deflowered wife in shame," I pointed out.

"I had no intention of letting him go through with the wedding," he said. "What I didn't realize was that he was a willing participant. I thought it was part of his cover."

"But it wasn't?"

"No."

"How did you get him out?"

The local doctor helped us in more ways than one. Treating the victims of this power-hungry family had more than convinced him to help us. He hoped the intel we got from Donaldson would result in some action against the family. The doctor had access to the henna that was being used for the wedding. Donaldson was dark skinned, so he didn't question that the henna being used was dark and as it dried, he was actually pleased that it turned black."

"What's henna?"

"Henna is a paste that is painted onto the skin. It's used to temporarily tattoo the hands and feet of the bride and groom in preparation for the wedding ceremony. It's a tradition. And there's no question who is getting married."

"It wasn't supposed to turn black?"

"Pure henna would turn greenish or brown or red. Not black. The doctor added a high concentration of PPD, para-Phenylenediamine. It's a black dye that can cause hyper-sensitivity after multiple exposures. It's common. It's found in most hair color and even printing ink. The doctor knew that Donaldson had been previously exposed to PPD because he had a hard time wearing certain items of clothing that had been dyed black."

I looked down at the black shirt I was wearing. "If his clothes made him itch," I started.

"The paint on his skin caused a serious reaction. He still has scars in the shapes of the intricate designs, reminding him of his coitus interruptus."

"The doctor took him to the hospital where you guys swooped in and he disappeared, right?"

"Actually, he didn't make it to the hospital. We took them on the road."

"And Donaldson was furious," I assumed.

"In more ways than one."

"What do you mean?"

"We didn't just extricate Donaldson. We acted on intel from the doctor, which Donaldson contradicted in his testimony at his court marshal. While Donaldson was on his way stateside being treated for a nearly life-threatening allergic reaction, we were shutting down an Indian Mujahideen terrorist cell operating in the region under the protection of the family. Then I testified against Donaldson at his court marshal."

"A painted on tattoo nearly killed him?" I asked.

"Black men are statistically more prone to develop allergic reactions to PPD than other races."

"Lester said Donaldson died from an allergic reaction."

"Yeah. His printer cartridge malfunctioned."

"Malfunctioned?"

"Donaldson likes paper. He likes making contracts. He was contacted with a lucrative deal, and he decided to draw up a contract. The printer beside his desk in the safe house wasn't working. When he pulled the print cartridge...it went poof."

"Poof, it blew up, or poof, it disappeared like magic?"

"It spewed a fine dust of PPD into the air, and he involuntarily inhaled it. Fatal anaphylaxis followed before they could arrange medical treatment."

"What about the other men? Grossman?"

"Markowitz and Schenker disagreed about who was next in command."

"And?"

"The unit wasn't really a unit, so there was no allegiance to authority, The men divided and the two sides essentially destroyed themselves."

"Any survivors?"

"Just a few men of no importance," Ranger said.

"And The Retriever was expecting this?"

"Yeah. He wasn't surprised I took Donaldson out. He wasn't surprised about anything. He died not even knowing he'd lost."

"What about the client?"

"Jean Philippe d'Orleans is actually Jean Philippe de Bourbon of Bhopal. The Bourbons have been living in India since the 1500's, so they are pretty un-official at this point, but several branches carry local clout to this day. Donaldson was marrying into the family."

"But, the man I torched was white, not Indian."

"Some branches intermarried. Some, not so much. Jean Philippe received his formal education in Paris. He married before returning to India. He used his wife's family address for years, which is why the trace came back with no connection to India. Donaldson was an American with military connections and you can see that he was capable of assembling an army. That was something Jean Philippe's father wanted badly. It gave him leverage with the thugs in the neighborhood. As to race, he had sons to carry on the family line. He didn't object to Donaldson's marriage to his youngest daughter in exchange for more power."

" You said you saw him? Jean Philippe?"

"I went to his apartment after you called, but he wasn't there. I found what I was looking for, and knew who I was dealing with. Then you were taken. I went back to his apartment after I was done with The Retriever. He was gone, but I retrieved a camera I left to watch him. You sure did a number on him. What did you use?"

"A can of windshield de-icer and a lighter," I told him with a shrug. "He followed me into a convenience store."

"I know he wished he hadn't," Ranger smiled.

"He wasn't alone. There was another man with him."

"Yeah. His cousin, Francois. He's wanted by Interpol. I turned over the video to Homeland Security. They'll be interested in talking to these guys. And that shouldn't be a problem. I also gave them the frequency for the tracker you left behind in their car."

My eyes went wide again. "I left?"

"Your pendant."

"But, I put it in my pocket. I still have it." I raced into the dressing room and searched my pants pockets, but Ranger was right. It wasn't there. It had fallen out."

"I didn't mean to lose it," I told him apologetically.

"Just means, once again, you've brought in the bad guys, without even trying," he smiled.

I sat down on the floor, looking defeated. "I'm a disaster," I complained.

Ranger sat down on the floor facing me, leaning against the wall, shaking his head at me, thinking about smiling.

"I have worked so hard to get here, Babe. I studied hard. I ate right, worked out, practiced every skill I was ever taught until I had it down perfect. I learned leadership skills from the best. And I've learned who I can trust and who I shouldn't, reading men's faces as well as anyone around. But you do it all so effortlessly, I can only assume you were born to be here, doing this job with me. There is no other explanation for it. And I'm not complaining. I'm in awe of you."

"You're in awe of me?" I said slowly, savoring every word.

"Completely," he whispered, pulling me into this arms.


	33. The Treasury Agent

As usually happens when I spend the night at Rangeman, I woke up alone. I glanced over at the clock. It was 8:30 in the morning on Wednesday.

I rolled out of bed and padded towards the kitchen to see if Ella had left me anything yummy. There was another covered plate sitting on the dining room table. A newspaper lay beside it, neatly folded. I lifted the lid on my plate. Two Boston Cream donuts from Tasty Pastry. I grinned. The smell of coffee was making its way from the kitchen, so I followed my nose. I said good morning to Rex as I poured myself a cup. I padded back to the dining room table, and nearly dropped my coffee when I noticed the headline of the article staring up at me. FORMER TRENTON COP ARRESTED FOR CONSPIRACY IN NYPD STING.

I scanned the article, noticing it was printed on page 8. Within hours of Manny's dispatch to his friend in New York City, the Division Chief had called in a 3rd party computer systems analyst to audit the Tech Support group. It was a sting operation. None of the middle managers were notified. The tech staff was detained on site. I assume the auditor went right for Brad Lintz's computer, and it didn't take long for an arrest warrant to be issued. The list of charges was said to be extensive, but had not been made public pending a press conference to be held later in the day. Lintz was not the only cop named in the article, but I could read between the lines, and so could Ranger. I was always surprised when he knew everything I did. But this time, I was also pleased. He wanted to know everything about me. And I was finally starting to figure him out, too.

When I tossed the paper back down on the table, I noticed a yellow sticky note had fallen to the floor. "Now check the headline."

I opened the paper. There was a huge photo of Joe Morelli hauling Masterson into the station. TRENTON PD NABS MASTERSON. The sub-title read, "Homicide Detective Joseph Morelli is credited with apprehending triple-murder suspect". Joe looked mean and hard, pressing Masterson by the arm through the door, past the crowd of reporters quick enough to beat him there after hearing it on the scanner. Another photo showed Joe opening the back of the wagon. Eight angry men were shackled and cuffed, sitting on the benches inside.

There was another sticky note stuck to the paper. "Safe in the shadows. Proud of you, Babe." I grinned and my heart jumped around a little. So this was what it felt like to change the world. And I did it without the press snapping a photo of me rolling in garbage or standing next to a flaming vehicle. No wonder Ranger was addicted to keeping a low profile.

I went to the intercom and pressed five.

"Control room," Tank answered.

"Tank, do you know where Ranger is?"

"He's at the hospital. Do you need a ride?"

"Is he expecting me?"

"Yes."

"OK. Let me shower and change."

"Ten four."

Twenty minutes later, I swung through the doors of the control room, dressed in Rangeman black, my hair in a pony tail.

The guys were all operating on very little sleep, but they were all alert, showered, shaved, and at their posts, as always. No yawning, stretching, or complaining. It was back to business as usual.

"Where's Manny?" I asked Tank. "I just wanted to check in on him before we take off."

"Quarterly evals were scheduled for some of the men, including Manny," Tank said.

"Is that like a quarterly job review?"

Tank nodded.

"How long is that going to take? Can we wait?"

Tank shook his head. "They're not here. They'll be back tonight."

I cringed, realizing that Rangeman evals were probably worse than boot camp. Poor Manny was probably hauling logs and crawling under barbed wire under live fire right about now, despite having bruised ribs, a busted nose, and a splitting headache.

"Who's in charge of the reviews?"

"We rotate. Today it's Lester."

"Oh."

Tank held out his hand. There was another hidden blade pendant, this one in the shape of a sailboat. I took it and put it on.

"Thanks," I said walking over to the monitors. "Anything from Joyce?" I asked Ram.

"The bug in Dickie's office expired. No new voice mails."

"OK, thanks," I said.

I followed tank down the hall. We passed Bobby as we hit the stairs. Tank had called him to take over. He winked at me, but didn't say anything.

I slid into the passenger seat of Tank's SUV and buckled up. I didn't expect much conversation from Tank. We rolled out onto Haywood and went through the usual motions, checking for a tail.

"You did good," Tank said out of the blue as we merged into traffic.

"Thanks," I said. "I'm really sorry about Hal. I feel sort of responsible for pushing him over the edge," I admitted.

"No. He needed to be mentally stronger than that."

"Ranger said he had reservations about hiring Hal."

"We've been discussing it every quarter since he's been here."

"And?"

"We were pressuring him too much. More than he could handle, apparently." Tank turned to me. "This wasn't your fault. And you saved our lives."

"You've saved mine too," I reminded him.

He just nodded.

We drove in silence for a few blocks before Tank spoke again.

"A member of French royalty founded the FBI," he said.

"You forgot to say, 'knock, knock," I told him.

He looked over at me.

"You're kidding, right?"

He raised his eyebrows at me. He wasn't kidding.

"Theodore Roosevelt was a French royal?" I asked in disbelief. I was a poor student, but I thought I would have remembered that.

"Charles Joseph Bonaparte."

"As in, Napoleon Bonaparte?"

"Napoleon's great nephew was Secretary of the Navy and Attorney General of the United States. There have always been government agents. It goes hand in hand with politics. But Bonaparte organized special agents for the Department of Justice. That organization became the FBI."

"I did not know that," I admitted, studying Tank as he turned into the hospital parking lot.

It felt weird bonding with Tank. He continued spewing obscure facts. I assumed this was his way of making small talk.

"In 1775, a few days after the Battle of Bunker Hill, Congress issued two-million dollars in paper currency. It had no value but the promise that the revolution would be a success and there would be a new country strong enough to back it up."

"OK." If Tank was trying to make a point, it was lost on me. "I didn't know you were a history buff."

"I study war," he said. That explained it. "Ranger and I would like to finance your start up."

My eyebrows shot up. "I told Ranger I want to do this on my own," I said stubbornly.

"You'll need Lula and Connie. You need start up capital to cover the costs of licensing and insurance, and you'll need to be able to draw a paycheck to pay bills," he said matter-of-factly.

We parked and Tank got out. He was going to hand me off to Ranger personally.

"Have you talked to Lula?" I asked.

"I put Lula in a suite at the Mariott. I didn't want her going home last night. Slick made sure the room was secure."

"You left her there alone?"

"She wasn't a target."

"Did you go to see her last night?"

"No. I needed a few hours sleep."

I nodded. That was understandable. Lula wouldn't have given him a moment's peace after all that excitement.

"Are you going now?" I asked.

Tank stopped walking right in the middle of the corridor. "Lula is never going to blend in at Rangeman like you do."

"I blend in?" I asked, sarcastically.

"The way she dresses. And Lula gets over-excited. She's loud and opinionated. She's...undisciplined," he sighed.

"Yeah, but you love her right?"

"Management sets the standard at Rangeman. We can't have all the men bringing their women to work. Rangeman is secure. And it's close quarters. It's not open to the public."

"What are you saying?" I felt my chest tightening. "Are you asking me to stop coming to Rangeman?"

Tank stood like stone, not moving, not answering.

"Tank? Do you want to finance my start-up so I won't be working from Rangeman?"

"No. I just don't know what to do about Lula," he admitted. "I'm not comfortable bringing her in. And I can't put in the time outside Rangeman."

"I thought you were considering marriage," I said, hands on hips.

"I am," he said.

"You had better not be jerking Lula around again," I warned him, sticking my finger in his face. "If you break her heart, so help me Tank," I broke off.

"I'm not, it's just," he groaned, clearly uncomfortable.

"He doesn't want all of Rangeman to find out how pussy whipped he is," Ranger said, walking up on us.

I turned on Ranger. "Is that how you feel? You don't want me in the building anymore?" I asked.

Ranger looked to Tank. "What?"

"Tank doesn't want Lula coming to Rangeman. But if they get married, I don't see how that's realistic. So, I guess they're not getting married," I huffed. "And I guess since you set the standard, neither are we." I turned on my heel to leave, but Ranger grabbed my arm, pulling me back.

"Babe," he moaned. He was surprised my feelings could be hurt so easily after the talk we'd had last night. "You're one of us."

"But Lula isn't?"

"If Tank decides to marry Lula, she's blood," Ranger said, as if it were that simple.

"That's great. But it doesn't mean anything if we never see her, does it?"

"Tank's always been slow to accept change," he explained. "But I've made up my mind about you. And things at Rangeman are already changing."

"Tell that to Tank," I said, my eyes narrowed to slits.

Ranger turned to Tank. "Remember the time Lula broke Erik Salvatora in Las Vegas?" Ranger smiled. "Or the time she kicked the door down and stunned Kenyon Lally? And the time Lula talked Stephanie into going onto the nude beach?"

Tank smiled sheepishly at that last one.

"Hey!" I yelled. "I thought we were clear. Lula and I are not your entertainment!"

Ranger wasn't fazed. "You two have broken my men, repeatedly," Ranger pointed out. I had to admit, that was a little bit incredible. "You're the ultimate test of their fitness. You're more than capable. You're fearless. And you're both a little crazy, Babe. Especially when you're together."

"Yeah, well, I've got news for you two muscle-bound morons!" I growled. "You're not in the Army. This is real life. You don't have to be up at four to go running and boxing and shooting and hitting the gym. You're in charge. You're making up these impossible rules no human being should be forced to live by. And I get that you think you need to set the bar so freaking high that no one else can come close to your god-like perfection, but you're noble sacrifice is a little over the top for the rest of us to be able to appreciate it! Especially when we're in love with you!" I was out of breath, but my eyes were still narrowed at them.

"Exactly," Ranger said, agreeing with me.

"What?" I stopped ranting and just stared at him.

"I will always hold to my code, Babe. And I will continue to expect my men to get up at four and work to the point of physical and mental exhaustion. And I know you understand why. But we were becoming too isolated. Our men have time off to spend with their family and friends. But the core team doesn't have as much time off. For this to work, you'll have to stay with us on Haywood. I've also come to realize that our way is not the only way. Rangeman has been a lot more grounded and mentally healthier with you around. You challenge us and keep us on our toes," Ranger said. "Besides, you can go places and do things we can't."

"Hold the phone," I said, putting my hands up. "You're forgetting one minor detail. I don't want to work for you!"

"You know I want to continue working together," Ranger said. He tilted his head to the side. "We have room to accommodate your new company with office space at Rangeman. Besides, you need us to provide security."

"You're saying we'd be at Rangeman without actually being part of Rangeman."

"Yes."

"And we would continue to do things our own way," I clarified.

"Yes. You don't need to subscribe to the Ranger creed to make the world a better place. Didn't you read the paper this morning?"

"Yeah, I did. And you know what I just realized? I gave Morelli a lead on a skip that would have netted me $50,000, and I helped put away a computer geek that you would have managed to negotiate a contract for. I did it all for nothing. I came out with zip. That's a great business model. Give it all away for free!" I berated myself.

"It's not about money. It's about ability. You girls all have skills. Once Connie is able to spend some time with our finance manager, she'll be able to negotiate deals you never even dreamed of. Besides, you got something for your efforts, Babe. Morelli covered for you, and he still owes you. Masterson was a big catch. And as for Lawrence and Lintz, Manny and the rest of the team are scared to death of you girls. And they're proud of you. If you were selling stock, you'd have your financing. They'd all invest."

"Based only on a promise that the company is going to be successful?" I asked, glancing over at Tank. His earlier comment finally coalesced into something resembling sense.

"Yeah," Ranger grinned.

"Getting back to Lula," I said, flashing my eyes toward Tank again. "You know what her life has been like. She was born on the street and she has a lot to learn. She hasn't been handed very many chances to prove herself. She may not care a thing for Vinnie's filing. And she may be afraid of heights and the dark and cops and even her own shadow. But she'd walk on red hot coals for you, Tank. Anything you need her to do at Rangeman, she'd do, if you teach her how. She could watch monitors, or do filing, or work on scheduling."

Ranger and Tank both looked doubtful.

I blew out a sigh. "OK, maybe not," I agreed.

"She'd have to wear the uniform in the building, without adding spandex, glitter, or sequins," Tank said. "She'd take a bullet for me. But when it comes to the uniform, she won't do it."

"Have you asked her?"

"No," he admitted.

"Well, guess what? You'd better call Ella to order some uniforms," I told him, hands on hips. "For Connie too. We're your new business partners." I wasn't sure where in the midst of that conversation I had made up my mind, but the thought of disappointing Lula was more than I could bear. We were not passing up any more opportunities, for love or happiness or better careers. We were going to make this work.

Tank's expression was stuck somewhere between relief and gratitude on the one hand and shock and horror on the other. Ranger kicked a bench under Tank as he began to collapse into a sitting position.

Ranger slung an arm around my shoulder. "Does that mean we're working together now?"

I checked his expression. He looked relieved, not smug. Smug would have made it easier for me to say no.

"Not yet. I still have some unfinished business," I reminded him, not smiling back. I was completely serious.

The corner of his mouth twitched. "I thought WE had unfinished business," he teased.

I narrowed my eyes at him again.

"You owe me," he whispered, his lips brushing my ear.

"Are you collecting?" I asked.

"Not yet. But I'd like to help you with this Joyce thing," he offered, walking me out of the hospital.

"What about Hal?" I asked. "Aren't we going to see him?"

"Not today," he said. I took that to mean Hal wasn't very happy with us right now.

We crossed the parking lot and I climbed into the passenger seat of Ranger's Porsche 911 Turbo.

"About the Joyce thing," I said.

"Babe?"

"It's not exactly going as planned."

"How's that?" he asked, turning the key and heading out of the lot.

"I had planned to talk her ex-husbands into helping me. But, Anders is sweet on Connie. Rogenbach is happy he escaped and I don't have the heart to drag him back into it after he said nice things about me. Dickie's the last person I'd want to ask for help. Brandt is a slime ball, and he's not going to help me. Lawrence wants to kill me. Lintz is going to jail, and good riddance. I still have Bunchy Boris Bronfman and Quarterback Randy Greenberg to go, but there's not much point talking to them. Bunchy's broke if he's still working as a mall security guard, and Greenberg is probably addicted to pain meds by now. Besides, I already know that there's only one person who can help unlock Joyce's secret."

"Who's that?" he asked.

"Yeah, like you don't already know." I rolled my eyes at him. "You could have saved me a lot of trouble."

"What fun would that have been?" he asked, trying not to smile.

I thought back to the She Devil movie and the sticky notes I had stuck to my coffee table. "My goal was to deprive Joyce of her home, family, career, and freedom."

"I remember." I still thought I could detect a note of disappointment in Ranger's voice, but I brushed it aside.

"So far, all I've done - aside from practically handing her the key to Morelli's house, which got her arrested - is make her mad and maybe a little paranoid. And I still don't know why she's so hell-bent on stealing everything good in my life."

"You've got several balls still in play here, Babe," Ranger said, turning onto Hamilton. "Joyce still thinks there's a private investigator using the name Anita doing recon on her. She could call Lawrence with an admission that she married him to get one over on you, and he could give you up. Not to mention, Lawrence has it out for you now for putting the EYE on him. Anders and Connie have been playing games with Kevin, so he probably knows something's up between 'Anita' and Anders. And now that Lawrence and Lintz have gone down in flames, she's probably sweating."

"And she's bound to be in a foul mood after losing both Morelli and Masterson," I added.

"That too," he agreed.

"Do you know if Connie went into the office this morning?"

"Yeah," Ranger almost laughed. "She told Vinnie she and Lula had to be admitted to the Mayo Clinic due to a contagious rash. She threatened to sue him for endangering her elderly mother, who she just brought home from Cranberry Manor this morning."

"What kind of rash?"

"She picked up one of those do-it-yourself scar kits that kids use at Halloween. She met Lula before they went in and made up their arms and faces. She put a real nasty one on her chest and got it ooze green slime and everything. Vinnie's got a doctor's appointment scheduled for noon, if that gives you any indication of how freaked out he is."

"Vinnie's missing his nooner to go to the doctor?" I laughed. "How do you know all this?"

Ranger just gave me a look. He was watching out for Connie. Probably had been for some time now.

"Do you have any bright ideas on how I can get Kevin to talk? And even if I get Kevin to talk, then what?" Ranger was taking us out of town on a back road.

"I'm not sure Hector's his type," Ranger teased. "But I can ask him."

"I would never do that to Hector," I said, shaking my head at him. "Where are we going?"

"Air strip," he answered.

"Why?" I felt a little twinge of panic. I didn't want to spend any more time in a safe house.

"Field trip, Babe."

"Is this going to be educational?" I asked. "I thought you were going to help me with the Joyce thing now."

"I am," he answered, ever the man of mystery.

In the distance, I could see a helicopter sitting on the tarmac outside a large hangar on a private airfield.

"What's with you and helicopters lately? You find a coupon in the back of one of your military manuals or something?"

"We bought this one from an auction six months ago. It's a good investment. It's cheaper than hiring private charters every time I need to transport a high-bond skip, and I can go to Miami without having to check my gun with my luggage."

"What about the second helicopter? Lester said you used a decoy when you brought us home."

"I had men waiting at the lake house in Maine. I expected Donaldson to try to take you from there."

"And when you realized Donaldson knew we were at the house in Quebec?"

"I sent our helicopter to pick up my men from the lake house. We hired another to pick you up. We hoped they were only monitoring the Rangeman helo. It flew on and circled the house in Quebec after you were gone. We hoped if they were tracking it, they would be waiting for it to land at this tarmac. We sent a full team to meet it, but, he anticipated that. He knew me too well. I should have had you and Connie plan the extract," he said ruefully.

"We would have landed on the roof at Macy's," I grinned. "Or the Multi-Plex."

"Yeah," he agreed. "I never would have thought of that."

We parked at the office. Ranger got out and walked around to my door. He helped me out of the car. Leaning in, he reached into my bag and took my driver's license out of my wallet. "We're traveling light today," he said as he slipped it into my zippered pocket, and slid my purse into the dark recess behind the passenger seat. Then he beeped the Turbo locked and we walked right out to the helicopter pad. Ranger opened the door and helped me into the front passenger seat. He closed the door and met a man with a clip board behind the helicopter. After a few minutes, he came around and got in beside me. He put a head set on and handed me one after I had buckled myself in.

"Ready?" he asked, his voice amplified though the head set.

I gave him a thumbs up as the rotors began turning.

When Ranger said he was flying back and forth to Miami, I imagined he was being flown, not that he was doing the flying. But, then again, nothing surprised me about Ranger.

We lifted off, my stomach doing a little elevator-lurch as the ground seemed to fall away. I turned my focus to Ranger. He was watching the gauges and talking to someone in the airport tower. Minutes later, we were moving at a good speed.

"What kind of helicopter is this?" I asked. It wasn't quite as large as the one we rode home on, but I realized this was the one we were delivered in, all three of us girls unconscious in the back, plus Manny and Zero and whoever else.

"It's a Bell UH-1 Iroquois." I looked over at him, not satisfied. "Retired Army transport Huey," he answered.

"That would explain the color," I said. It was olive drab. "Just haven't got around to painting it yet, huh?"

Ranger's mouth twitched. "What color were you expecting?"

"Rangeman black."

"For cars, yes. For Huey's, no."

I felt the corner of my mouth twitch as I tried not to smile at that.

"Where are we going?"

"To the mall," he said.

"Yeah, right."

"We'll land outside Alexandria. I have a rental car waiting for us. We can talk to Bronfman and then we need to make a stop along the Chesapeake in Virginia to pick up our guys."

"Quarterly evals are held in Virginia?"

"Yeah. Former Navy Seals have a civilian training camp there. It's easier to use their land and facilities than to maintain our own."

Before I knew it, we were landing at another small, private air strip. Ranger followed a post-flight checklist. Then he came around to help me down. He filled out some paperwork in the office. The attendant handed him a key and we were out the door. Ranger beeped off the alarm on a Mercedes G-Class SUV. As always, it was shiny, black, and brand new.

"This is a rental?" I asked, doubtfully.

Ranger just smiled. "I might decide to buy one," he said. "Let's call it a test drive. What do you think?"

"It's a little boxy."

"Yeah, it looked more like a big military jeep in the pictures."

"Rides nice, though."

"Yeah," he agreed, entering his zone as we approached traffic.

He had turned on the GPS and we were gliding towards the Potomac Mills Mall.

"Deja vu," I said, as the voice of the GPS began to annoy him. "Should I turn it off?" I teased.

Ranger's eyes were smiling, even if his lips weren't. "I never would have made it through Julie's kidnapping without you." He glanced over at me. "I'll always owe you for that."

"There's no price for what we give each other. Not financial. Not emotional," I reminded him. I was being a smart ass, as I repeated his own words back to him.

"No, but we still have unfinished business," he warned me, less playfully. My stomach rolled, like we had just taken off in the helicopter again.

"You were just kidding, about Hamilton and Broad," I said, trying to sound more confident than I felt.

"I don't make threats I don't intend to keep," Ranger warned.

"You wouldn't dare," I said, looking out my side window, losing my nerve. "Besides, you said IF I told Tank. I only threatened to tell Tank. I didn't tell him anything."

"Tank heard you. Your phone is being monitored by Rangeman," he reminded me.

All the air escaped from my lungs. I faked a cough to cover it.

"Does Bunchy know we're coming?" I asked, my voice sounding pinched as I tried to change the subject.

"Yeah. We're meeting him for lunch at the Petra Mediterranean Grill."

"Sounds healthy," I remarked.

"They have sandwiches, gyros, and fries. You'll like it," he promised.

"No salad?"

"Not for you," he agreed.

"Okay."

We rolled up to the mall entrance, and twenty minutes later we were sitting down to eat with the man I had always thought of as Bunchy the Bookie.

"Stephanie Plum," Bronfman said, looking me over. "What are you doing here?"

"You didn't tell him?" I asked Ranger.

"You're case," he said.

"What case?" Bunchy asked.

I blew out a sigh, and dipped a French fry in the large blob of ketchup in the center of my plate. "I'm trying to figure out why Joyce has had it in for me after all these years. I don't suppose you'd know?"

"Don't suppose I would," he agreed. "Joyce wasn't much on small talk."

"I figured," I said.

"You know she was just using me, right?"

"Yeah, to get to Ranger," I nodded.

"Well, she wanted me to get the goods on Ranger, and then make sure Morelli had to arrest him."

I choked on a fry. "What?"

"Yeah. So, I was sniffing around, trying to find anything dirty on Ranger that I could give to Morelli."

"Did Morelli know?" I asked.

"No."

"Why would you do that?" I asked.

"She wouldn't put out if I didn't."

"So?" I made a disgusted face at the thought of Joyce and Boris Bronfman doing the deed.

"So, I'm weak. Look at me. I don't get chicks like that anymore. Not that I ever did."

"You were a Treasury Agent," said. "Why would you risk your career for a tumble with Joyce?" I asked. "Don't you miss it?"

"Yeah, I miss it. I was making about $80,000 a year. Now, I'm making about $24,000 a year. I'm living in a pay-by-the-week motel and eating here at the mall. I'm sick of falafel," he complained.

"Would you be interested in helping me get back at Joyce?"

"Uh, yeah," he said, indicating that was a no-brainer.

"Any ideas how we could do that?"

Bunchy looked back and forth between me and Ranger for a beat. "Is she kidding?"

"No," Ranger told him.

"You don't know why Joyce hates you?" he asked.

"No clue," I told him.

"She's always wanted Morelli. Everyone knows this. How could you not know this?" He looked at Ranger. "Is she messing with me?"

"No," Ranger said.

I looked to Ranger. "She's pissed at me, because of Morelli?"

Ranger shrugged. "Makes as much sense as anything else."

"Did she tell you that?" I asked Bunchy.

"Didn't have to," he shrugged.

"And she left you when you got busted?"

"She left me when I told her Ranger was clean and I wasn't going to help her anymore."

"That explanation doesn't work for me. I've only been dating Morelli a few years. She's been tormenting me since kindergarten. Since we were six," I explained.

The gears in my head suddenly ground to a halt.

"What?" Bunchy asked, eyebrows raised expectantly. "Does it mean something when she's frozen like that?" he asked Ranger.

"Yeah," Ranger said. "She's got it now."

"Oh my God," I gasped, eyes wide, thinking back to the time when I was six and Joe was eight and he had talked me into playing choo-choo in his father's garage. At the same time, images of Joyce were flashing through my mind. Joyce peeking under the bathroom stall. Joyce taking photos in the girls locker room. Joyce eavesdropping on conversations and spreading vicious rumors laced with partial truths throughout elementary, middle, and high school. Joyce had always been an eavesdropping, peeping Tom.

Joyce had been there. Joyce had been watching and listening as Joe and I were playing "Train", which was just like playing doctor, only with less equipment. Joe had a flash light. He was the train, and I was the tunnel. This was ten years before Joe relieved me of my virginity behind the éclair case at Tasty Pastry, where I was working. Joe was the only man I had ever been intimate with besides Dickie and Ranger.

"Is she okay?" Bunchy said, standing. "She's hyperventilating."

"Babe?" Ranger said, rubbing my back.

"Oh - my - God!" I gasped again.

"You want to share?" Ranger asked.

"No!" I said, shaking my head frantically. "No, no, no." I closed my eyes.

I couldn't tell Ranger about Joyce without telling him about me and Joe. And I knew I couldn't do that.

If I did, Ranger would probably commit his first murder.


	34. The Question

[Author's note: If you would like to take the video tour of Fort Benning, visit YouTube and search "Going Back to Fort Benning - A Sentimental Journey", "Ranger Gives Tips to Survive Ranger School !MUST SEE!" and "U.S. Army Rangers Demonstrate Skills and Training". Also check out Google Images of The Ranger Memorial at Fort Benning. The night images with back lighting are amazing. As to other technical details regarding aeronautics and military base security, it's fiction. Just go with it.]

Ranger was looking over at me, concern in his eyes, as we drove back to the air strip.

"Babe, do not throw up in this car," he warned me.

I focused on breathing. I felt pale and flushed. I wasn't totally ruling out throwing up, but I hadn't finished my lunch, so it was less likely that I'd throw up than it was that I'd hyperventilate again. I was still clutching a white paper take-out bag in my left hand. My right hand kept involuntarily clutching at the sail boat pendant, merely because it was lying against my t-shirt in the vicinity that where buttons would be. The old Stephanie was back, and she was feeling vulnerable.

We rolled into the lot in front of the office and parked. Ranger wasted no time getting me out of the car. I was guessing he had decided against buying it. He lead me back into the office. I sat on a leather couch while he handled the paperwork. I expected to be whisked away, back to the helicopter and off to pick up our guys. Instead, Ranger sank down on the couch next to me, studying me.

"Babe?"

"Ready to go?" I asked.

"Too early."

I checked the clock on the wall. It was just going on noon.

"What time are we picking up the guys?" I asked.

"We'll meet them at 1800 hours." I glared at him. "Six o'clock."

"What did you have in mind?" I asked.

He smoothed a curl that had fallen free from my pony tail. "I was hoping we might have time for the educational portion of our field trip. But I'm not sure you're up for it today."

"I'm sorry," I told him. "I feel like I was just broadsided."

"I noticed," he said. Pulling me closer, he placed a gentle kiss on my temple. "How can I help?"

"You can't help," I assured him.

"Babe. You were six. How serious could this little disagreement have been?"

"You have no idea," I moaned, feeling a fresh stab of anxiety. I clutched the paper bag tighter in my fist.

"I can see whatever happened was embarrassing for you. Can I assume that you were doing something you shouldn't have been?"

I raised the bag to my mouth and gave in to a new round of hyperventilating.

"I'll take that as a yes," he said, rubbing my back. "Relax. Just breathe normally."

When I opened my eyes, I did indeed feel more relaxed. I was lying comfortably on the couch, legs up, my upper body stretched out across Ranger's lap. He was stroking my hair absentmindedly, thanking a woman who had brought a paper cup of water for me.

"Ugh," I moaned.

"Feel better?" he asked, mildly amused.

"Where are we?"

"Still in Arlington. You just passed out for a few seconds. You'll be okay."

I thought about sitting up, but it felt like too much trouble, and lying in Ranger's arms felt so good. I looked up at his smooth dark skin and warm black eyes. My fingers reached up and found their way into the soft hair that was just touching his shirt collar.

"Babe," he whispered. "Don't tempt me here," he begged. "We're a long way from home."

I ignored him. I wasn't thinking about Joyce or Morelli or anything else. My mind had been wiped clean of everything but the scent of Bulgari and the sight and sound of Ranger. As if reading my mind, his arms tightened around me and brought my lips up to meet his. And then, I was a goner. You have to have bones for a bone-melting kiss. I no longer felt my bones. I was boneless, floating on waves of bliss.

"Better?" he whispered against my lips.

"Almost," I answered breathlessly.

"We have an audience, and you're killing me," he complained. "Doesn't that embarrass you?"

"Not right now," I moaned. I wasn't in my right mind. "And you're never embarrassed, remember?"

"Not very often," he admitted. "But if you love me, you'll lay quietly for a few minutes, and then I'll go green light our charter."

"Charter? I thought you bought the Huey so you didn't have to rent a charter."

"Even modified with extra tanks, the Huey only goes about 600 miles at 125 miles per hour. It would take too long. The charter jet can get us to Fort Benning in about an hour."

"Fort Benning? Georgia?" I asked.

"Yeah."

"What's at Fort Benning?"

"You'll see," he said.

"Okay," I agreed.

Ranger scooped me up and plopped me down beside him. "Keep breathing," he ordered, as he got up to go talk to the attendant. I focused on the wall clock, counting the seconds. Five minutes later, we were headed across the tarmac to a corporate jet. Ranger helped me inside and buckled me into my seat.

"You already had this chartered?" I asked.

"Yes."

"So, this isn't a spur of the moment trip?"

"I've been intending to take you. I didn't charter the plane until this morning."

"Why now?"

"Because I'm through waiting, Babe. I've told you more about me than anyone knows outside Rangeman. But words are one thing. Seeing is another. There are still things about me that you don't understand. If we are going to have a future together, I need you to make an informed decision."

I looked at him for a beat. "An informed decision?"

"Yes," he said, buckling himself into the seat beside me. He took my hand in his, resting it on his thigh as he looked out the window.

The jet engines roared as the plane turned and began to taxi out onto the runway. My heart was pounding in my chest again. We were about to be shot into the sky, 500 miles per hour towards our destiny, together. There was no stopping it. He wanted a decision, today? I closed my eyes tight and squeezed Ranger's hand.

"You're not afraid of flying, Babe," he said. "What's wrong?"

"This is all happening too fast," I said, beginning to hyperventilate again as the plane shot down the runway.

When I opened my eyes, the jet was soaring quietly through the clouds.

"I'm starting to worry, Babe," Ranger told me.

"Am I going to get brain damage?" I asked as the world swam back into focus. I had passed out again.

"Not likely. But I think I might need a drink," he admitted. "You're causing me stress."

"Sorry," I said reflexively.

"We've got an hour before we land. You want to talk about this now, or after we get back on the ground?"

"Are those my only options?" I asked, my head still spinning a little.

Ranger opened a bottle of water and handed it to me. I took it with both hands, not sure what had happened to my paper bag.

Ranger raised the arm of the seat between us and took the bottle back from me when I was done. I hugged his arm, and he caressed my fingers.

"Something tells me I'm not going to like the explanation," Ranger said wistfully. "There's always been something bothering me about your relationship with Morelli. And now Joyce is involved." He turned his face away, but I could feel the heat of his glare. It wasn't directed at me, but I knew my first impression was right. Ranger would be furious about Morelli. "You would be smart to tell me now, while we're sealed in this plane," he told me.

"You've always said Joe is a good man, and that he loves me," I said, feigning confusion.

"Joe is a good man now. He's a good cop. And I know he's come to love you. But, for a long time, he wasn't a good man." Joe's reputation as a wild womanizer had not been lost on Ranger. I was sure he knew that Joe was descended from a family full of drunks and womanizers, so I didn't waste my breath pointing it out.

"We were just kids," I said. "It didn't mean anything."

"Were you alone with him? Did he hurt you?" Ranger asked through gritted teeth.

"Yes, we were alone. And, no, he didn't hurt me," I assured him.

"He embarrassed you?" he asked.

"Not exactly," I hedged.

"You were six. He was eight. He didn't hurt you. You weren't embarrassed at the time, but you're mortified that anyone else would know about it," he pieced together.

I didn't deny it.

"I can think of a whole myriad of things boys in my neighborhood did to younger girls when we were eight," Ranger growled. "And none of them were nice."

I shrugged against his shoulder. "It never happened again."

"But you wanted his attention, or it wouldn't have happened in the first place," Ranger thought out loud. "And so did Joyce. That's why she's jealous. She thinks you stole Morelli's attention away from her."

I sat bolt upright in my seat. "What?" Hurt and anger erupted unexpectedly from deep inside. My most sensitive, bitter-sweet childhood memory was being torn into pieces right before my eyes.

He turned to look at me.

"I stole...his attention?" I muttered. "I took...from her?"

"She had his attention first, or she wouldn't feel this need for revenge against you," he explained.

"No," I said, shaking my head again. "He didn't. He couldn't. Not with her. Not with anyone. He couldn't have." But I knew with every fiber of my being that the old Joe could have, would have, and most certainly did. The plane could have plowed into the ground at that very moment, and I wouldn't have noticed. A broken piece of my heart was going down in flames.

"You hadn't put that part together yet?" Ranger said, looking up to the ceiling, doing a mental eye roll at my naïveté again.

"She always thought Joe was hers first," I said slowly, piecing it all together for the first time.

"That sounds about right, Babe."

"But, I didn't know anything about Joyce and Joe. I mean, there wasn't any relationship there. We were just kids."

"Joyce's parents had abandoned her and Kevin about that same time," Ranger pointed out. "Morelli's rejection was a much deeper wounding than it would have been to you."

"She's been focused on it, obsessed with it, all these years?"

"Focusing her anger on you helped her avoid dealing with her own pain and feelings of low self worth," he explained. "It's pretty common."

I looked at him with disbelief.

"OK, maybe not to this extreme," he acknowledged.

We sat in silence most of the trip. As we approached, I felt Ranger tense.

"What are you going to do, to Morelli?" I asked nervously.

"What is there to do?" I could tell he was angry.

"You know he's changed. You know he's a good man now. And it's not like he had positive role models. His father was terrible to those boys, and to his wife."

"I'm trying to remember that," Ranger said. "I'm still going to need a drink."

The landing was smooth. The jets roared again as we slowed to a crawl and taxied off the runway towards the office.

Ranger helped me out of my seat belt and down the steps. We walked together to the office. He signed more papers, and he was handed another key. We went to the parking lot and he beeped the alarm off for a Porsche Cayman S. Again, black, shiny, and new.

"You're such a show off," I told him as he reached to open the door for me.

As if he had changed his mind mid-reach, he spun me around to face him and backed me against the side of the car. "I love you," he said fiercely, catching me by surprise. When I failed to respond, his lips covered mine, and his body pressed me hard against the smooth contour of the door. His hands were braced against the roof of the car on either side of me. The kiss deepened, and I sensed that his passion was dangerously close to the surface. My palms were pressed flat against the hard muscle of his stomach, until my fingers involuntarily curled into fists full of his shirt. He reluctantly broke from the kiss, moaning, "I love it when you do that."

"When I ruin your shirts?" I panted.

"Yeah," he breathed, kissing his way down my neck.

"I thought you were mad at me," I told him, anxiety mixing with the heat in my voice.

"Too late to change it. And I don't want to change you. I just want to love you," he mumbled between kisses as he made his way back up to the spot behind my ear. My hair was down. I didn't know when he had pulled my pony tail free. It could have been at the airport in Alexandria for all I knew. He had me so flustered.

His right arm came down smoothly as he reached behind his back.

A car sped out of the lot past us. "Get a room!" some guy shouted out the window.

I felt Ranger's arm relax as he released the gun at his back and brought his hand back to me.

Reluctantly, he pulled me away from the car and opened the door, helping me in. He closed the door, went around, and slid into the driver's seat. Moments later, we were speeding down a country road, with no apparent need for GPS. Ranger knew where he was going. He handed me my hair scrunchie and I smoothed my hair back into a pony tail, checking my reflection in the mirror.

Soon, we approached the gates at Fort Benning. Ranger showed our ID's at the gate and we were directed to a parking area nearby. When we got out, we were greeted by an active duty Army Ranger in gray-green cammies wearing a tan beret.

"Sergeant 1st Class James Stickley," he introduced himself with a salute.

"Sergeant" Ranger presented our ID's, including his concealed carry for Florida. Stickley took them swiftly, studied them quickly, and returned them. "Sergeant Major," he said, offering his hand. I got the distinct impression they knew each other as Ranger firmly shook the hand offered. He made a notation on his clip board. "I understand you will be escorting Miss Plum on a tour of The National Infantry Museum and The Ranger Memorial."

"Yes," Ranger confirmed.

"I apologize for the delay. Due to security requirements, we will need to inspect the vehicle, and you'll need to surrender any weapons you may be carrying."

I was genuinely surprised when Ranger handed over both guns and his knife. He gently removed my sail boat necklace and handed it over as well. We were wanded while a military dog searched the vehicle. Then, we were fingerprinted and Ranger was reminded that he was officially responsible for my behavior while on base. Ranger never gave me a sideways glance, as if he had no doubt about my ability to behave myself. I was filled with doubt, praying I wouldn't hyperventilate again. I called on the new Stephanie and started doing deep breathing while standing patiently, refusing to fidget. Finally, Sergeant Stickley handed Ranger a laminated visitor's pass with his photo on it. We climbed back into the Porsche and drove onto the base.

We parked beside an enormous building. Everything on the base was neat and orderly, and I had to say I was impressed as we mounted the steps and set foot inside.

For the next two hours, I was immersed in the history of US Infantry life, and death. I guess I had considered the Ranger's elite status to mean that they didn't have to do all that front line fighting. Ranger always described it as get in - get out. But his training had been a lot more rugged than I had thought. There was a presentation by a recent Ranger School graduate being given in the Ranger Hall of Fame exhibit. I listened closely as he explained the different phases of Ranger School and the tips and advice for those interested in applying. The timeliness, the neatness, and preparedness; these things didn't surprised me. Even his description of how the multi-tool would be used in unexpected ways didn't surprise me that much. But the intensity of his voice, about how hard it had been, shook me. The training had been much more torturous than he had signed on for. The phrase he used most often was, "You can never give up." I remembered Ranger talking about wishing for death in Colombia, and I knew it was this training that had taught him that he was not permitted to give up, no matter how much he wanted to. It had saved his life.

The young man went on to talk about wearing the same boots for days without taking them off, about grueling marches in full pack, water combat training in full battle gear, and losing 20 pounds he couldn't really afford to lose during just the first two of the four phases. He talked about the deterioration of their young, well toned, healthy bodies, and I realized why so few made it through.

He told how he had to repeat one of the phases just because conditions prevented the weapon he was issued from firing. He was failed only days from completion. I could see how much he wanted to complain, even scream, with frustration, but he had accepted that it was a life lesson. Sometimes men will be expected to cope with the unfairness of what life throws at them. Sometimes the ability to accept that unfairness is the true test of Ranger School, the true test of conviction and commitment. I saw Ranger nod slightly to him at that point, and the new Ranger nodded back in understanding. That's why Manny was doing evals today, I realized, squeezing Ranger's hand in silent forgiveness. Manny wanted to be that strong, and Ranger was keeping that promise, to make him stronger that he was yesterday.

When the presentation was finished, I turned to face Ranger. As I leaned in to kiss him, I noticed Ranger shift slightly. Ranger is smooth, but not...shifty.

I narrowed my eyes at him. "What was that?"

Ranger brushed my cheek with his hand and did his best to dazzle me with his eyes.

I flicked my gaze to the wall behind him. My eyes caught on the name Manoso.

"That's just Tank and a ton of paperwork," he said. "Don't pay any attention."

"But, I want to see," I protested.

"No," he said with finality as he put his hands on my waist, forcing me to turn around, not letting me see why he was named in the Ranger Hall of Fame.

I had a hard time keeping up with all the historical names and dates and locations. Every image I saw had Ranger's face reflecting back at me in my mind's eye. I rarely let go of his hand, and was glad when we finally came to the end of it all. Ranger sensed my tension and brought us back outside into the sunlight, away from the darkness and flickering images of war and brutality.

"You okay?" he asked, tugging playfully on my ponytail.

"That was intense," I told him, blowing out a sigh.

"Try living it," he said, throwing his arm over my shoulder and steering me back towards the car.

"You're not going to tell me about your name being on the wall in there?" I asked, disappointed.

"Babe, that isn't why I brought you here."

"You just brought me to show me the museum, so I could understand you better," I said.

"Do you?"

"Understand you better? Yeah," I admitted. "I knew it was hard to be a Ranger. I guess I didn't realize how hard. You make physical activity look easy, and I guess what you do in Trenton for training is a piece of cake compared to this."

"There's something else I want to show you," he said. "Just one more thing."

We drove around the base toward the air field. Ranger pulled over and we got out. He walked me towards a park centered around a large sculpture featuring an enormous black dagger. A bronze Ranger tag was emblazoned like an archway over the walkway, attached on either side to two marble columns that tapered dramatically to sharp points on either side. The dagger was displayed between two similar pieces of granite. Names were carved into the shiny, polished granite stones of the walkway.

"What is this?" I asked.

"The Ranger Memorial," he said. We were all alone, except for a black SUV that had pulled up behind our car. Ranger didn't seem concerned.

"This is amazing," I told him looking around at a myriad of stone work. The view changed and became more impressive the closer we came to the center of the sculpture. "Wow," I breathed.

I quickly searched the stones on the walkway for his name, before he could stop me. He was walking a few paces behind me, letting me look. At first, I assumed I wasn't going to find his name. After all, this was a memorial. Ranger was still alive.

I stopped in my tracks when I found his stone. Like all the others, it didn't list a rank, just the title Ranger.

RANGER / R. CARLOS MANOSO / 1ST BN 75TH RGR RGT

I stared down at the stone as Ranger came up behind me, wrapping his arms around my waist, holding me tight.

"This is a memorial," I whispered. "Why is your name here?"

"It's not that kind of memorial," he explained.

"I don't understand," I said. "What are you trying to say?"

"Babe, no matter how much I love you, I can't give up Rangeman or being a Ranger. It's not my job. It's not a career choice. It's what I am. That is never going to change."

"I understand that," I said.

"What that means is that, most likely, someone younger and faster is going to get the drop on me someday. Or I'm going to dive head first off one too many bridges. Or my bones may become brittle and a lung will be punctured in the sparring ring."

"Are you trying to scare me?" I asked.

"I'm asking you to be realistic. Everyone dies. Statistically, you can expect to outlive me. Someday you will have to bury this body, and place a grave marker over it. But what I want you to do is to remember me with this stone. This isn't a grave marker, a symbol of death. It's a marker of my life. This is my choosing, giving my life, one minute, one hour, one day at a time, to being a Ranger. And I know you didn't really mean what you said this morning," he said, turning me to face him. "I know you're proud of me."

"I am, proud of you," I whispered as tears splashed down my cheeks. "But I don't want to live without you."

"I can't promise you any other life," he said. "This is my life. It's the only one I have to offer you."

"What are you saying?"

"I'm asking if you're willing to marry this Ranger."

My knees nearly buckled.

"I know it's not an easy choice, but you have to decide. I can't put a ring on your finger. You know why. But I'll make damn sure my flag and honors are yours, and you're treated with all the dignity and respect you deserve. I'm claiming you as my own."

I tried to answer, but there was a lump in my throat. I tried to blink the tears away, but I was on the verge of sobbing. Ranger pressed me against his chest and let me cry until I was able to breathe normally again.

"You've had a rough day," he teased, gently tugging my ponytail again.

I looked up at him. "Why do you want to marry me?"

He kissed me gently. "I can't stop thinking about you. I don't want to. I'm tired of sleeping alone, wondering where you are. I want to be able to sleep with you safe in my arms every time I come back to seven. And I want to be free to give you every pleasure, with no more guilt. Please, say yes, and stop torturing me."

"Yes," I whispered. "I love you."

"I love you, too. That's why I'm going to make this as painless as possible," he said.

I heard footsteps and noticed three men walking towards us. Sergeant Stickley was approaching with a Chaplain and another Ranger.

It all happened so fast, it was a blur. Ranger and I were standing in front of the dagger, under the Ranger arch on the walkway of the memorial. The Chaplain asked a few questions. I answered that I loved Ranger and he answered that he loved me, and I promised to honor and cherish him as long as we both lived. And then, Ranger kissed me. A camera flashed. When I looked around again, Stickley and the other man were signing a document on the Chaplain's clip board. Ranger and I signed. Ranger shook hands with each man, the Chaplain kissed my cheek, and they left.

"Feel any different?" Ranger asked, grinning down at me. He looked relieved and happier than I had ever seen him, but not smug. Smug would have made it easier to lie to him.

"Sort of," I said vaguely. "Did we just get married?"

"Yes," he said. "You don't want an annulment, do you?"

"No, I don't think so," I said. "Did I just change my name?"

"No. I think you should probably keep Plum, for security reasons."

"You don't want me to have your name?" I asked, feeling a little pinch of anxiety in my heart.

Ranger smiled. "If it means that much to you, it's yours. But I'd prefer you stayed safe from the lesser crazies by keeping Plum. I don't intend to make our marriage public, outside our immediate friends and family."

"You mean, the entire Berg?"

"Yeah," he smiled. "Miami doesn't need to know."

"So, does this mean I live with you on seven now?"

"Yeah," he said smiling, walking me back to the car.

"Where are we going now?" I asked as he opened the door for me. "Are we going on our honeymoon?"

"No." He kissed me gently as if apologizing. "It's time to pick up the kids."


	35. The Quarterback

While at Fort Benning, I had been reminded of that old recruitment ad, "In the Army, we do more before 9:00 am than most people do all day." I was thinking how true this was as we hovered over the make-shift tarmac along side the marshland of the Chesapeake. I was looking down on our men. They were standing at attention despite being exhausted, dirty, tired, and probably hungry.

As we sat down, Lester approached, surprised to see me sitting in the passenger seat beside Ranger. I got the feeling he had expected to ride shotgun. He opened the side door and our men piled in, stowing their gear neatly before strapping themselves into their seats. I got surprised looks from each man. I recognized Dragon, Mace, Woody, Slick, Caesar, and Manny.

I turned to Ranger. "Would you mind if I rode in back?"

Ranger raised an eyebrow at me.

"I think I'm in Lester's seat. And I want to check on Caesar and Manny," I admitted.

"Don't spoil my men," he warned, giving me a slight nod.

I took that as approval, so I unbuckled myself and handed over the headphones. Ranger motioned to Lester, who open the door for me. When I moved to slide out, Lester reached out to help me climb down, making sure I kept my head down. He closed the long side door after me once I scrambled into the back.

I took the empty seat on the end beside Manny. The men didn't have headphones on. They had ear plugs in. Manny gestured to Ranger. Ranger nodded, and Manny pulled a headset down from an overhead rack. I put them on, and was relieved to have the noise reduced to a tolerable level again. With Lester buckled in and all doors secure, Ranger gave a casual two-finger salute to a man on the tarmac. The man saluted back, and we lifted off.

"What's going on?" Lester asked Ranger. "I thought you were taking the day off?"

"I did. Just took Steph sight-seeing."

"Uh, huh," he said, as if he found that to be unlikely.

Lester didn't press it, but a smile quirked on the corner of Ranger's lips, and Lester noticed. He glanced back at me, and I couldn't help blushing as I smiled back. Lester did a mental eye roll at us. He knew we'd been up to something.

"How ya doin', Steph?" Lester asked.

"Fine," I answered. "How did evals go? I was worried about Manny. I didn't know Caesar was here too. He just got choked half to death, you know."

"Bobby cleared them both this morning."

"Yeah? So, how'd they do?"

"They've done better, but they finished within requirements."

Lester didn't seem to have expected anything less. But I was impressed. I turned to Manny and gave him a thumbs up and a big smile. He nodded, obviously aching too much to smile back, but I knew he was more proud of himself than he would normally have been. I looked over his blackened eyes and swollen nose, his scraped and bandaged arms, and then I noticed how he was carefully hugging his ribs. Then I did the same with Caesar, taking a closer look at his bruised throat as I gave him a thumbs up and a smile. Both men looked genuinely surprised at something they saw in my eyes. Understanding, maybe. I smiled at each of the other men in turn, but no one attempted to speak.

Ranger and Lester were discussing the evals. I tried to listen at first. They were talking about making some modifications to 2C, the room where Caesar introduced me to Taser Tag. Ranger and Lester had apparently been making plans before.

Lester glanced back at me, and I gave him a finger waive. This got me a grin.

I caught something about adding authentic street sounds, some kind of weather simulation including more moisture and lowering the temperature, and concrete sidewalks with heavy aluminum posts. Ranger was giving the go ahead, wanting it done ASAP.

After a few minutes, I had tuned out the discussion. I was busy replaying the afternoon over and over in my mind. I was married to Ranger. I couldn't wrap my head around it. It felt like nothing had changed. And it felt like everything had changed. But most of all, I felt okay with it. I felt secure in a way that I never thought I could.

Most men buy a woman roses, but not Ranger. They wine and dine a woman while she is a prospective mate. Ranger had done that, a little. But when the honeymoon's over, he stops doing those things and then wonders why his laundry isn't hung up in his closet and why she burned dinner. Not that laundry and dinner were going to be issues for us with Ella around. But here, now, being with Ranger, being brought along to pick up the guys, being included, not left behind, was all I ever wanted. And I had the feeling that I wasn't going to be left behind anymore, unless I wanted to be.

I didn't seem like we'd been in the air long when we arrived back in Trenton. Ranger completed the post-landing check list. The guys were picked up in Rangeman SUV's and returned to Rangeman. Ranger and I were climbing into the Turbo.

"Hungry?" he asked.

"Starving," I told him, remembering that I hadn't really eaten my lunch.

"Thirty minutes, but I'll make it worth your while," Ranger promised.

"Ok," I agreed.

We hit the interstate and started passing signs for the Philadelphia exit.

"Where are we going?" I asked. "We're hardly dressed for a night on the town."

"Sorry, Babe. It's not that kind of dinner. We're meeting someone."

"So, this is a business meeting?"

"Something like that," he said.

"Whatever. As long as there's food," I groaned as my tummy rumbled.

We pulled up to an Italian bistro. We had a reservation. A large, handsome man with sandy blonde hair and broad shoulders was sitting at our table, waiting for us. A woman in a skimpy dress and four inch FMP's was just tottering away, waiving her autographed cocktail napkin to her friends at another table. I realized this must be Joyce's famous ex-husband, the quarterback.

Ranger extended his hand. "Carlos Manoso."

"Randy Greenberg," he responded, his large hand almost eclipsing Ranger's.

"This is my wife, Stephanie," Ranger said, introducing me.

I felt my legs turn to jelly as I realized what Ranger had just said. He sounded like he'd introduced me that way a thousand times, like we'd been married for years. I tried to play it cool, acting like nothing had just happened. I tried to say, "Hello," but nothing came out, so I extended my hand instead.

Randy took my hand and kissed it. "Pleasure," he said.

He seemed very comfortable with the ladies, I realized. He hadn't been surprised to have Joyce making a play for him. I wondered how he'd fallen for her. Probably flattery, like with Anders, I assumed.

We took our seats and ordered before Ranger got down to business.

"As I explained on the phone, your ex-wife, Joyce, has been harassing Stephanie for years. At this point, we're just trying to get to the bottom of it. We think it may be related to a childhood incident involving Joseph Morelli. Did she ever mention anything to you?"

"Joyce didn't mention it, exactly. I heard about it from her brother, Kevin."

My eyes were wide. "You knew Kevin?"

"Sure. We tossed the ball around, you know. And he liked to come down to the stadium when we practiced."

"And you were okay with that?" I asked.

"Sure. We were just playing ball. He's very athletic."

"What did he say about Joyce and Morelli? What about their parents? Would you say Joyce suffers from abandonment issues?"

Randy looked overwhelmed by the questions, and I wondered if abandonment was too large a word. I was getting the feeling he wasn't the brightest crayon in the box.

"Just tell us what you can about Joyce's childhood," Ranger said.

"Well, like I told you on the phone, it's a long story," he said between bites of bread stick. "Joyce and Kevin were raised by their father's parents after he left their mother for a stripper."

"What about their mother?" I asked.

"The mother had also been a stripper before they married. She found herself a new sugar daddy and didn't want the kids around. She said they were excess baggage."

I looked over at Ranger. "You knew this earlier today?"

"This is your investigation," he said, not committing to an answer.

I turned my attention back to Randy. "So, I'll bet the grandparents were thrilled about becoming full-time parents again. After all, they did such a fine job the first time around," I said sarcastically.

"Yeah," Randy agreed. "The grandparents were selfish. The dad was selfish. The mom was selfish. They taught Kevin and Joyce to be selfish. Look out for number one," he said.

"Did they resent caring for their grandkids?" I asked.

"They felt burdened. The mom and dad never sent money. Joyce was told she'd better marry well, because no one else was going to take care of her. She was expected to turn out like her mother, a gold digging slut. I don't know what they expected from Kevin, but when they found out Kevin was gay, their grandfather disowned him. He stopped peaking to him. Kevin moved out before graduation and was living with friends. Joyce was told she had to move out as soon as she graduated high school, which she did. I think she and Kevin shared an apartment at first."

"That's when Joyce went to work for Macy's at the cosmetics counter," I remembered.

"Yeah, that sounds right," Randy said. "Kevin was bartending. Still is."

"Ok. But what about Morelli?"

"She always hated Morelli for beating up on Kevin. I guess they got into it over Joyce when they were kids, and the harassment got more serious as they got older."

"Wait. I thought Joyce wanted Morelli. Now, you're telling me she hates him? And Morelli was beating up on Kevin?"

"Morelli and his macho friends. They were beating him up even before they knew he was gay. I'm not sure that had anything to do with it, except it gave them hurtful names to call him."

"What started it?"

"A bet. I guess Morelli's brothers bet him he couldn't get into a girl's panties. So, he talked Joyce into playing some game in his garage. The brothers were watching. They came out and paid him, right in front of her. He won his bet, but they bet him double or nothing he couldn't get the neighbor girl to do it. They said Joyce was too easy because her mother was a slut."

My mouth dropped open. "It was a bet?" I nearly yelled.

Ranger put his hand on the back of my neck, massaging gently while keeping me planted in my seat.

"Yeah," Randy said, downing another bread stick in two bites. "All guys bet on stuff like that," he said with a shrug.

Yeah, in the fraternity where Randy lived for six years, probably. But not in the Berg. Not in grade school. I was grinding my teeth. I glanced over at Ranger. He didn't look surprised. I remembered what he said about eight year old boys in his neighborhood. Maybe I had been sheltered. But Joyce hadn't been. No wonder she talked about men being nothing but scrotum and ego. No wonder she treated them all with such distain.

"So, then what happened," I asked, not sure I wanted to hear the rest.

"Guess Joyce decided to stick around and watch. She was hiding with the Morelli brothers. And, sure enough, Morelli talked the neighbor girl into dropping her drawers, just like Joyce had. After the second girl left, Morelli got into it with his brothers when they didn't want to pay up. I guess it got nasty."

"So, Joyce knew it was a bet all along. She could have warned the other girl," I said, my temper rising.

"I guess she wanted to see if the other girl would do it."

"Then she should have felt vindicated when the other girl fell for it too," I pointed out.

"Yeah, but I guess she wanted to play the game again, and Morelli didn't want to. He told her he didn't want to play with the fat red-head with freckles and buck teeth when he could have Wonder Woman. The neighbor girl was always dressing up and pretending to be Wonder Woman," Randy laughed. "Morelli had only been playing with Joyce for the money. But he said he'd play with the other girl anytime. That really made Joyce crazy pissed off. Kevin said she was never the same after that."

"She wanted to play the game again, after they just humiliated her?" I asked, shaking my head in disbelief.

Randy nodded. "Women," he said, as if he'd never understand them.

"And Kevin found out and went over there to confront the boys?" I assumed.

"Yeah. Got his ass handed to him, too. Those boys were awful mean. Their dad was a drunk, so they all knew how to fight dirty."

"I really don't know how to feel about any of this," I said, turning to Ranger.

"Now you know the reason. The question is, what are you going to do about it?"

"This doesn't change the fact that Joyce's behaviour has been inexcusable."

Ranger smoothed a loose curl back behind my ear. "You need to think outside the box, Babe."

Our plates arrived. Ranger opted for a loaded salad with chicken and large olives and green peppers. I had lasagna. Randy had a large steak, a bowl of ravioli, a full order of chicken cavatappi, a large salad, and two more baskets of bread sticks. I got the feeling he never stopped eating.

"So, Randy. What have you been doing since the, uh, accident?" I asked. I had read in the files that he blew out his knee, had suffered multiple concussions, and had strained a rotator cuff.

"Injury is part of sports," he said, not offended by the question. "Honestly, I don't know how to do anything outside of playing sports. I know how to work out, so I tried to get on at a gym as a personal trainer, but you have to pass a lot of courses before they'll certify you, and I couldn't do it."

The waitress swooped in to fill all of our glasses for the tenth time.

"Randy's going to be playing for the Philadelphia Soul. That's an Arena Football League team," Ranger explained.

"Oh, yeah?" I asked.

"I'm healing up. And the NFL and college ball aren't the only options. Plus, I can play other sports."

"I guess I didn't think of that," I said.

"I didn't either, at first. Maybe I'm not very smart, but I've got a new manager who's been taking care of things for me." Randy handed me his manager's business card.

"That's great," I said. "Do you know this guy?" I asked Ranger, showing him the card.

"Heard of him," he said. "Seems like a good guy."

"Are you happy?" I asked Randy.

"Sure. I'm still playing ball. People still want my autograph. I don't have to do all those stupid commercials anymore. I'm making enough money I don't have to worry. I get a little kick back from the calendar sales. I've done a little escort work on the side, but nothing dirty. Just weddings and family reunions and stuff. I was offered a modeling gig through my agent, and got to go to San Francisco for that. I like to travel, so that was nice."

"Are there any openings on the team?" I asked, giving Ranger a meaningful look.

"Actually, we just had a guy retire last week. He went back to school, got married, and had a kid. He decided to quit while he was still in one piece."

"What position?"

"Defensive tackle."

"We might know someone who would be interested," I said. "Don't you think Hal might be interested?"

Ranger smiled at me. "You can ask him," he said.

We finished dinner with amicable conversation. Soon, we were back on the road, headed for Rangeman.

I was suddenly feeling a flush of nervous jitters. We were married, and this was our wedding night. Ranger was in his zone, and I couldn't tell what he was thinking. I reached over and he took my hand in his.

"You've slept with me before, Babe," he reminded me.

"Yeah, but what if it's different now?"

"Different how?" he asked, glancing over at me.

"I don't know," I sighed.

"It's not the first time either of us have been married, either," he pointed out. We had both been married for about 15 minutes when we were in our 20's.

"Yeah, and look how well that turned out," I said, feeling even more queasy.

"Babe," he groaned, feeling a little frustrated with my sudden attack of nerves.

"What? I just figured, when I did get married again, my wedding night would be...I don't know. I guess I just didn't picture spending it having dinner with a football star discussing Joyce Barnhardt's personal issues. Not that I'm complaining," I said quickly. "Thank you for helping me today."

"I can make you forget all about Joyce Barnhardt," Ranger promised, flashing me a sly smile that gave me goose bumps from head to toe.

"No doubt."

Before I could recover, Ranger's cell phone rang.

"Yo," he answered on speaker.

Tank's deep bass filled the car. "A disturbance was reported in the parking lot outside Stephanie's apartment building. Morelli responded to the address, along with other officers. Two are in custody. Grant Lawrence and Joyce Barnhardt."

"What's the story?" Ranger asked.

"It appears Lawrence was lying in wait for Stephanie. Joyce happened to see him there. She confronted him, and it got loud."

"Secure the apartment," Ranger ordered.

"Already done. No sign of forced entry, but he stink bombed the apartment. We should dispose of all food, plastic containers, and all her clothes should be laundered. We'll need to wipe the place down. Looks like he tried to give her THE EYE."

"Ten four." Ranger said, disconnecting. "You want to stop by your apartment tonight, or in the morning?" he asked me.

Neither, I thought as I grit my teeth.

But it was too late. My cell phone was ringing. It was Morelli.

"Hello," I answered, blowing out a sigh.

"I need you to come down to the station. If I believe what I'm hearing, one of Joyce's ex-husbands just booby-trapped your apartment. I assume you'll want to press charges once you've smelled the damage."

"I'm on my way to the apartment now. I'll be at the station in twenty," I told him, disconnecting.

Leave it to Joyce Barnhardt to ruin my wedding night, too.


	36. The Lock-Up

[Author's Note: I did a re-write to Chapter 35 - The Quarterback, March 6, 2013. You'll want to re-read it before going on.]

When Ranger and I arrived at the door of my apartment, we were surprised to see Connie, Hank, Tank, and Lula all standing there, pinching their noses and gagging in the hallway. Then I got a good whiff, and I was bent over too, trying not to be sick.

"Oh my God!" I gasped. "It's as bad as Connie's."

"Worse," Ranger said, breathing through his mouth as he entered the apartment.

The door was open. Dillon, the building super, was inside. He was wearing a respirator and grinning at me.

"This is your most impressive stalker yet. I mean, I thought the guy who got blown up with a grenade took the cake, but we had to evacuate the entire third floor this time," Dillon told me, his voice nasal and hollow sounding from behind the respirator. "You need to press charges, or you're going to be stuck with the bill on this one."

My eyes were watering, and I was so glad Rex was safe and sound on Ranger's kitchen counter.

"I'll owe you a case of beer for this one," I told him, my eyes watering.

"Yeah, you will," Dillon agreed.

Ranger returned. "Whatever you've lost, I'll buy you a better replacement," he promised. "I think they'll just have to toss most of the apartment. He sprayed this noxious liquid on everything."

"Okay," I agreed. "Anything. Can we go now?" I asked, backing down the hall towards the elevator.

Connie and Lula were on my heels, followed by Anders. Tank and Ranger took the stairs.

Once the doors opened to the lobby, we all gasped for air.

"How did you guys know about this?" I asked Lula.

"I was spending some quality time with Tank when he got the call," she explained. "I called Connie and she was out with Hank. So we all met here."

"I'm sorry Lawrence ruined your night," I said to everyone.

Lula shrugged. "That's okay. Were the hell have you been all day? We've had huge news, and all calls went straight to voice mail."

"Oh, I didn't realize the ringer was turned off," I lied. I had spend the entire day without my purse, alone with Ranger. I could see why he was so glad to leave it behind.

"Steph! We quit Vinnie!" Connie shrieked, unable to hold it in any longer. "Hank and I were out celebrating!"

"What?" I gasped.

"Girl, you missed out. Tank came by and brought us each a box of Rangeman uniforms. He said we were all going into business together. Your business. And we could start decorating our new office right away. Tank and Ranger are our new partners. But you know that, right?"

"Right," I said. "I just didn't expect it to happen so fast," I said.

"Tank couldn't wait to tell us," Lula gushed. "He said it was best just to rip off the bandage without thinking about it."

I paused for a beat, assuming Lula had been to excited to really think that less-than-flattering reference all the way through.

"Speaking of bandages," Connie giggled, "We had Vinnie going with those fake scars."

Lula was doubled over again, laughing this time. "Connie made up a huge bill from the Mayo Clinic, and he thought we were suing him for exposing us to F. Emasculata, that horrible disease with exploding pustules from season 2 of the X-Files. He insisted on the doctor checking every square inch of him, twice, looking for any sign he's got boils," Lula laughed. "When he came back to the office, having figured out we were having him on, he started chewing us out for being gone for a few days while we were in Maine. So, we quit."

"Vinnie was fit to be tied," Connie said. "I just wish you had been there to see it! He turned every color imaginable by the time he was done."

"Sorry I missed it," I told them.

"We're really doing this, right?" Lula asked, still not quite sure she believed it.

"Can you handle wearing Rangeman black?" I asked.

"If it means spending more time with Tank, I can do that," she agreed. "It's not like I'm ever going to get discovered around here anyway. I mean, meeting Brenda got me thinking. Being famous isn't much of a long-term career. She didn't seem happy. And I'd miss you guys. I think maybe it's time for a new career goal."

"That's great," I said. "But, we have a lot of work to do before we are actually up and running," I said, throwing a wet blanket on Lula's enthusiasm.

"Not as much as you might think," Connie beamed. "After we quit, and Vinnie had an epileptic fit," she laughed, "I had a very interesting meeting with Rangeman's financial manager. We had a meeting of the minds. And guess what?"

"I can't guess," I said, feeling as breathless as Connie.

"I called Rogenbach and explained our situation, and about Wayne Brandt and Associates. And he's taking the case. He's going to represent you along with 20 other former EE Martin employees in a suit. He expects it to settle out of court, but it should give you investment capital," she squealed.

I was speechless. I just stared at her with my mouth hanging open.

"It was your idea," Connie said. "Oh, and Rogenbach also called that chick, Marla, that worked for Lawrence at East Coast Insurance. The one Lawrence called to get your phone number from, remember? She got his job and is the new Executive VP. Guess who is no longer black listed for full coverage insurance?"

"What?" I gasped.

"Yeah. EIC would be glad to have us as a corporate client as soon as we're ready to buy company vehicles."

"I can't believe it!" I said, hugging Connie.

"And now, Joyce is right where you wanted her!" Lula said, hugging us both. "She's in jail, her car's been impounded, she's had to put her house up for collateral once already to secure a bond. Now, even if she gets out again, she loses the house if she skips, and she might go to jail if she doesn't."

"What kind of charges are we talking about?" I asked, looking back to Connie.

"She's facing trespassing and violating a restraining order on Morelli's beef. Plus disturbing the peace and carrying concealed. That's if Morelli decides not to add resisting arrest and assaulting a police officer. You play your cards right, and Joe might throw the book at her."

"We're heading down to the station now," I said, crossing the lobby. "You don't need to come," I said. "I'll let you know how it goes."

"Say what?" Lula called after me. "You're crazy if you think we're not coming with you."

We all filed out into the parking lot.

I looked to Ranger as we slid into the Turbo. We were both doing a mental check list. My mission had been to deprive Joyce of her looks, her home, her car, and ultimately to have her tossed in jail. Without even having a plan to directly destroy Joyce, it appeared that this was in fact the outcome I had been hoping for.

The old Stephanie was feeling a little guilty. Finding out about Joyce's parents, about what a shit Morelli had been, and about Kevin, had kind of made me feel like a heel. But, as the new Stephanie pointed out, Joyce hadn't warned me about Morelli's Choo-Choo money-making side-show. She had still done all of the things that had made me so angry in the first place, with no just cause other than jealousy and resentment, which was not my fault. And chances were good that nothing was going to change if I quit my mission now. Not an option, especially since she'd tried to make Morelli husband number eight. She had no doubt intended to chew him up and spit him out, as soon as she had proven to him that he really did want her after all.

I considered Ranger's advice. I needed to think outside the box. What did I really want from Joyce? Did I want her to suffer? Did I want an apology? Did I want to be friends? I thought about it for a beat.

"Babe?" he asked, as if he smelled something burning.

"I'm trying to think outside the box," I told him. "I'm just not sure what that means in this case."

"You were angry when you started this," he said. "But revenge doesn't really suit you."

"I just want her to stop making my life a living hell," I said. "I have to admit, I had it much better than Joyce growing up. I have parents who love me and provided a stable home. I had good friends like Mary Lou. It seemed like I married well when I was with Dickie. She seems to have been jealous of my relationship with Morelli. And now, won't she be jealous I have you?" I reached out and squeezed his hand. "I can wish good things for Joyce, but I can't make any of it happen. How can I make her feel like she has self worth?"

"No one can do that for someone else," he said. "Joyce has to discover her personal value for herself."

"Can I provide her with an opportunity to discover something good about herself?" I wondered.

"You can try, but I wouldn't trust her," Ranger cautioned. "She isn't going to change overnight."

"What's good about Joyce?" I mused. "I mean, she must have some good qualities, right?"

"She knows how to motivate a man," Ranger said.

"Yeah. Too bad she always uses that power for evil," I agreed.

We pulled into the cop shop, and got out. Ranger beeped the Turbo alarm on, and crooked his arm around my shoulders.

"Ready?" he asked.

"No," I answered truthfully.

"Just be yourself," he advised.

"Right, because that's been working so well up till now," I said, giving him attitude.

"It's always worked," he said, boosting my confidence just a little. He believed in me.

I had been so worried about Joyce, I completely forgot about Morelli and Ranger facing off for the first time after Ranger learned about the choo-choo incident. But when we swung through the door and I saw the color drain from Morelli's face, I knew Ranger's expression had to be the reason. I didn't dare to look.

Joe's eyes took in Ranger's possessive stance. He didn't seem surprised.

"Ranger," he said, icily acknowledging the presence of another alpha male in his vicinity.

"Morelli," Ranger responded, letting him know he had something of a serious nature on his mind.

"Steph, I need to know if you intend to press charges against Grant Lawrence for vandalism and breaking and entering."

I looked to Ranger and then back to Joe, and blew out a sigh. "I don't know," I said.

"Is there something you need to tell me?" Joe asked.

"Who, me?" I asked sheepishly.

"Wow," Joe said, doing a mental eye roll. "When Lawrence told me you put THE EYE on him and got him fired, I didn't believe it."

"You always said there's no such thing as THE EYE," I reminded him.

"Just because I don't believe in magic curses doesn't mean I don't believe in sneaky, underhanded women with too much time on their hands," he said. "I know damn good and well that Connie doesn't just sit behind that desk filing her nails all day without cooking up some serious shenanigans. And she's been rubbing off on you."

At that moment, Connie and Hank arrived, followed by Tank and Lula.

"Great," Joe sighed. "The gang's all here," he said, as if now convinced Lawrence had indeed been telling the truth.

"Yeah? Well, you're not exactly know for being honest and true, are you, Joe?" I blurted out.

"What's that supposed to mean?" he growled.

"I mean, I just found out about a certain bet you made with your brothers a few years ago. A bet that involved me and Joyce and a train," I said pointedly.

"What?" Joe's face paled again, going from red to chalky white as he avoided Ranger's glare.

"I've been trying to figure out why Joyce hates me so much. And guess what I came up with?"

"Yeah," Morelli nodded, as if he'd heard this story recently, from Joyce. "Well, I didn't care for her then, and I certainly don't care for her now," he told me.

"You did a lot of damage to that woman, Joe," I told him seriously. "A kind word from you right now could go a very long way to repairing the damage."

Joe stared at me like I'd lost my mind. Hank and Connie and Lula were matching his bewildered expression. Only Ranger and Tank were impassive, their faces blank.

Joe shook his head as if to clear it. "Look, I just need a yes or no on Lawrence. Are you pressing charges or not?"

I looked to Ranger. "Your call, Babe," he said.

"Can I talk to him before I decide?" I asked.

Joe nodded. "This way," he said, leading us to the cages. Ranger was going with me. The rest were waiting in the lobby.

Minutes later, I was sitting in an interrogation room, face to face with Grant Lawrence. Joe and Ranger were standing behind me, looking intimidating.

Lawrence had been unable to post bail. Vinnie was glad to have him back in the system and wasn't offering to spring him again. It looked like he would be a guest of the city until his hearing for firing a gun in public.

"How does it feel to have someone put THE EYE on you?" he asked me, trying to creep me out. His haystack of brittle hair and his face still recovering from his recent acne out-break made him look rather juvenile rather than intimidating.

"I removed THE EYE when you apologized," I told him. "If I apologize to you, are you going to remove THE EYE from my apartment?" I asked.

"I don't know how you did it, but I know it was a trick."

"You don't believe in curses?" I asked.

"No. And I'm not giving you want you asked for, either."

"I know. That's okay. I found out what I wanted to know."

"Really? You know why Joyce hates you so much?" he asked doubtfully.

"Yes. I know why she hates me. The question is, what to do about it."

"Believe me, if she hates you half as much as I do, there's nothing you can do about it," he snarled.

"Why are you so angry with me? You brought this all on yourself," I reminded him. "I asked you nicely for help. You were hateful and unkind. Just like you were when you blacklisted me without taking into account my side of the story. Those accidents weren't my fault, and you know it."

"What I know is, you're out of luck getting it reversed now that you've got me fired. Ever think of that?"

"Yes. And, as it turned out, replacing you with Marla was just the ticket," I said, smiling at him.

"Marla?" he spat. "What does that mean?"

"Marla's the new Executive Vice President of EIC. She was quite sympathetic when my attorney spoke with her earlier today," I told him.

"Your attorney?" he gasped.

"Yes, maybe you've heard of him. David Rogenbach?"

Lawrence sputtered. "Joyce's second husband is helping you?"

"Sure," I told him. "He was glad to. You see, most of her ex-husbands were glad to do what they could to help me when I asked nice."

"What? You really went after us all?"

"All seven," I confirmed.

"Seven?" he gasped. "Seven?"

I stood to go. "You know, if you would have asked nicely, I would have dropped the charges," I told him as I stood to leave. "But since you hate me so much, I guess you wouldn't appreciate the gesture anyway. Maybe you'll have time to learn some manners while you're in prison."

Lawrence's mouth was hanging open as I walked out the door.

"So, we're pressing charges?" Joe asked.

"I think he needs some rehabilitation. Or at least, anger management classes," I told him. "And Dillon is due restitution for the damage to the apartment."

"Did you damage his home?" Joe asked.

"Not one bit," I answered, assuming it was the truth. "Check it out for yourself."

"I think I will," he said, studying me.

"Can I see Joyce now?" I asked.

"Why?"

"I need to talk to her for a minute. Please?"

"Fine, but you're on your own in there."

Five minutes later, Lawrence was back in his cell and Joyce was sitting in the interrogation room. Ranger and Joe were watching from behind the one-way mirror as I entered alone.

"What's going on?" Joyce growled. "I don't remember asking for visitors."

"Surprise. You didn't have to," I said, going for friendly.

Joyce was a mess. She had been forced to wash her face clean of make up. He face was blotchy and she had deep wrinkles crossing her forehead and small wrinkles around her eyes. Her hair was without enhancement, and apparently without conditioner. It was frizzy and unkempt. She was wearing an orange jumpsuit and handcuffs, no other jewelry.

"Unless you're here to post bail, it's time for you to leave," she warned.

"I'm here to ask you why you hate me so much. I thought at first that you were in love with Joe. But, then, I got to thinking that you don't love any man. You think all men are scum. So, why the interest in Joe?"

"Why? Want him back?"

"No."

"Last I heard, you were hot and heavy with Ranger."

"You could say that."

"I did say that," Joyce crooned. "The only thing you ever did that I approved of was two-timing Morelli with that hard body."

"I wasn't two-timing Morelli."

"Yeah, right."

"We had agreed to see other people," I said earnestly.

"Admit it. You just couldn't hang onto Morelli."

"You know something, Joyce? Ever since I walked into my dining room and found you with Dickie, I've felt like I would never be able to trust again. I felt like trying to pursue that dream was useless. I believed you when you warned me that I wouldn't be able to keep Joe. And I admit, it played a large part in my inability to commit to him, let alone to marry him. And I want to thank you for that." I didn't even know where the words were coming from, but there they were, out in the open.

"You're thanking me?" she laughed.

"Yes. I'm thanking you, Joyce. Thank you for saving me from Dickie. Thank you for making my time with Joe so uncomfortable. If you hadn't, I might not have given Ranger a chance."

"You're thanking me?" she repeated, her laughter dying in her throat.

"I love Ranger. And I've married him."

Joyce stared at me, eyes growing wide.

"You married Batman?"

"Wonder Woman married Batman. Film at eleven," I said, nodding.

"When?"

"Today."

Joyce grinned. "You're here, when you could be in bed with the Cuban sex god? You really are stupid," she laughed weakly. She was clearly jealous.

"I'm here because I want this bitterness between us to stop. I want it put to rest. I never did anything with the intention of hurting you. If you need an apology from me, fine. I apologize to you, Joyce. I'm sorry your life has been so unhappy. I'm sorry you've been so hurt and so dissatisfied. But it's time for you to forgive, and stop living in this bitterness. You have talents and so much going for you. Can't you embrace life and give other people a chance to be your friend?"

"You want to be friends?" she asked, mocking me.

"No, not us. Other people. Someone else," I said, waiving that idea away.

"Why would I want to do that?"

"Because, if you do, I'll talk to Morelli about dropping the charges against you."

"You'd do that?" she asked, paying attention now.

"Yes. What do you say? Want to bury the hatchet and start fresh? You're never going to get a better offer."

"Sure," she said, throwing her hands up. "Why not?"

"One more thing," I said. "Men are not just scrotum and ego."

"Yes, they are," she laughed, as if I were truly naive.

"Joyce. I'm telling you, they aren't. Joe is a good man. He's made mistakes in the past, but he's grown up. He's mature, and responsible, and he has deep feelings. And I know you do too. We all do."

"What about Dickie?" she asked, eyebrows raised. "You going to tell me Dickie has deep feelings that deserve respect?"

I laughed. "Yeah, okay, almost everyone."

Joyce smiled. "Okay. Get me out of here, and we'll let by-gone's be by-gone's," she agreed.

"Okay," I said, holding out my hand. "Shake on it."

Joyce's lip quirked. "Fine," she said, shaking my hand awkwardly with the handcuffs on. "Now, get me out of here. I need a long, hot shower and a stiff drink," she complained.

"I'll see what I can do," I said, heading for the door.

I met Joe and Ranger in the hall.

"You're married?" Joe asked, the hurt in his voice unmistakable.

"Yes," I told him, thinking it was best to rip the bandage off right away without thinking about it.

"And, now you want me to drop my charges? How is that fair?" Joe asked.

"I didn't ask you to apologize, so I think it's more than fair," I told him, anger registering in my voice. "Get her released."

"Fine," he growled, stomping off down the hall.

Ranger put his arms around me. "Babe," he said, his voice wavering in warning that I was playing with fire where Joe was concerned.

"I know what I'm doing," I told him.

"You know she's not really over it," he said.

"I know. She's just playing me."

"Then, why are you doing it? I thought you said no more. There would be no next time."

"That was before I knew the reason why. This is my final gesture. After this, she's on her own, and my conscience is clear."

"So, in your mind, this makes you even?"

"Yes. Joe got us into this mess, and Joe's getting us out," I said. It made sense in my mind, even if no one else could see it.

"Okay," he said, resigned to see how this was going to play out.

Twenty minutes later, we were all sipping coffee as Joyce came ambling down the hall towards us. She stopped short when she saw Hank Anders with his arm around Connie.

"What the fuck?" she growled. "It's you! All this time, you're the sneaking little back-stabber who's been messing with my ex-husbands! You're Anita!" she shrieked, making a dive for Connie.

Hank cut her off, pushing Joyce back.

"Joyce, is that you?" he asked, dismayed. Clearly he'd never seen her without her makeup on before. "You look like shit," he told her.

"Yeah? You want to see scary? Just wait till I get hold of your girlfriend," she hissed.

"Connie isn't the one who's been stalking you, you crazy broad," Hank bellowed.

"I've got eyes," she growled.

"You ain't got any brains, though. It's Jeanne Ellen, Trenton's best bounty hunter, that's been stalking you," he told her, jerking his thumb in my direction.

Connie's hand flew to her mouth and she shot me a look. She'd never set Hank straight about my true identity.

"I'll kill her," Joyce said, flying into a rage.

I braced for impact, surprised when Joyce went tearing down the hall past me. I turned just in time to see Joyce launch herself at Jeanne Ellen Burrows, who was standing in front of the receiving desk. Jeanne Ellen was dragging in a cuffed, drunk, and ridiculously belligerent Jesus Rodriguez. Last time I saw his name, Ranger had brought him in on $500,000 bond. Jesus went rigid when he saw Ranger smiling at him, no doubt remembering the jail term that followed their last meeting.

Joyce and Jeanne Ellen went down to the floor flailing and screaming. Tank grabbed Rodriguez and dragged him down the hall towards the processing clerk. There were no cops around when we needed one, so we all just stood there dumbfounded while the cat fight of the century went on and on. What started with bitch slapping and hair pulling ended up with faces being slammed into the floor, clothing being torn apart, and elbows being jammed into places elbows don't belong. I had to look away several times. They were both going to fair far worse than I had when Razzle Dazzle had done a number on me.

Finally, Tank returned, and he and Ranger separated what was left of the women. Morelli and the processing clerk rolled their eyes as they cuffed the ladies and hauled them back down the hall for processing.

"That went well," Connie laughed nervously.

"What happened?" Hank asked.

"This is Stephanie Plum," Connie told Hank, introducing us yet again.

"You told me your name was Jeanne Ellen," he said, looking confused.

"Sorry," I shrugged.

"This is the Stephanie you're going into business with?" Hank asked Connie, looking surprised.

"Yep," she said, blowing out a sigh.

"God help us," he groaned.


	37. The Traffic Light

Ranger and I were gliding through the night in the Turbo, on our way back to Rangeman. The instrument panel glowed blue-green, lighting up the dark like the cockpit of a plane, and it felt like we were flying again. A light mist was coming down and the air was cool as it blew gently through the vents against my heated skin. I could feel my cheeks burning as I tried not to look at Ranger silhouetted against the wash of the street lights. The things I was thinking about doing to him were probably illegal, even in New Jersey. And I didn't dare to guess what he was thinking about doing to me.

When we were just a few minutes away, Ranger reached for his phone and dialed. Lester answered.

"We won't be long," Ranger said.

"Ten four." And Ranger disconnected.

"What was that about?" I asked.

Ranger didn't answer. He just glanced over at me, and then returned to his zone. It was like he was suddenly his old, silent, mysterious self. I waited for a beat, expecting him to fill me in, but he didn't.

"Hey. You have to tell me things now," I reminded him.

"That wasn't in the vows," he said. He wasn't going to tell me.

We slid into a dimly lit parking lot off Hamilton, and Ranger turned off the engine. He reached for me in one smooth motion as he opened his door. He pulled me across the console so that I was sitting in his lap. My lips met his, and he kissed me with a passion that had the earth spinning beneath me.

"Babe," he moaned against my lips. "There's just one more thing we have to do before we go back up to seven," he whispered.

No! My body was screaming for release. There was no way we were making another pit stop. I grabbed his hair with both hands and kissed him with wild abandon. I was going to make Ranger forget his own name. I didn't care if we were on camera. I was ready to do him right there in a public parking lot, and he knew I could do it, too.

"This won't take long," he promised.

"What won't?" I breathed.

"I just have to get you naked."

My body was humming in agreement, and I was braced for him to start stripping my clothes off right there, and then it hit me. A sharp pinch on my ass. I pulled back in shock.

"I told you, we have unfinished business," he whispered into my ear.

"You wouldn't," I gasped, as I felt myself slipping away. My head lolled back and I found myself staring at the upside down image of the traffic light at Hamilton and Broad.

I tried to open my eyes, but I couldn't see anything at first. It was dark, and there was a cool breeze on my skin. On all of my skin. I was naked. My first instinct was to cover myself, but when I tried, my hands were caught behind my back. I was handcuffed to a pole. And there was a ticking. Then a louder clicking noise. Then...oh, my God. Traffic!

I struggled to my feet. I was naked, wearing nothing but a pair of heels, handcuffed to the traffic light at Hamilton and Broad, and I was blindfolded. I struggled to rub the blindfold against my shoulder, trying to get a look around. There were white and green and red lights reflecting off the wet sidewalk at my feet. There was a brick building about thirty feet in front of me. There was a fine mist falling, and a light breeze was blowing my hair and making my nipples stand at attention as goose bumps rose like a wave across my skin.

Ranger wouldn't have left me here alone, I reasoned. I was his wife. No way he left me out here.

I tried to stay calm. This couldn't be happening. He wouldn't really do this. It was some kind of...some kind of...joke. Like something Connie would pull. It wasn't real. It couldn't be.

I thought about what I had just learned about Ranger. He lived by a code. And he kept his word. Was there a conflict between the golden rule, "do unto others", and his promise to keep his threat so I would respect him in the future?

A cool breeze blew across my skin again. I froze when I heard voices. It sounded like young men walking down the street, about a block away. Pigeons were flying overhead. Pigeons, in the mist, at night? I held my breath and listened, thinking about calling out to Ranger. But I was still trying to reason out what was happening. What did it mean? And shouldn't I be trying to get out of the handcuffs?

I slid down, feeling around on the ground. Maybe Ranger had left me a paper clip. Somehow, I was supposed to escape, right?

The voices were getting closer. But they didn't seem to have noticed me yet. I was distracted as a breeze sent a new wave of goose bumps over my flesh again.

Three seconds, I thought. There was a breeze every three seconds. That wasn't normal.

I stood up, slowly. I listened to the traffic. No one was screeching to a halt at the sight of a naked woman chained to the light pole. The men were still talking, and still getting closer, but no one was jeering at me.

The breeze hit me again, and I knew where I was. I was on the second floor in room C. Lester had set it up. This was what they were talking about on the helicopter. The temperature, the humidity, the sounds of traffic, the sidewalks and the pole. Ranger had been planning this all along, I realized.

Well, two can play at that game, I thought, grinning wickedly on the inside. I was actually alone with Ranger in the dark, and he was somewhere close with his eyes glued on me. And I was going to make him crazy.

One, two, three. Breeze. I moaned. I was really feeling turned on now. I stood up straight against the pole, posing myself to look sexy as hell in my black FMP's. I pressed my shoulders back. The red of the traffic light clicked on, bathing me in it's glow. One, two, three. I moaned again, shivering with excitement and the chill. I was wet now, from the mist, and from Ranger.

"I think you should come over here," I crooned, coolly.

I heard the rustle of clothing six feet away.

"Tell me what you want," Ranger taunted.

"I want you to tell me how sexy I look, handcuffed naked to the traffic light at Hamilton and Broad," I said, my voice low and seductive. I couldn't help the grin that escaped.

"Shouldn't you be worried?" he asked, taking a step towards me.

"Why worry? You've got me naked. I'm half way there already," I breathed.

One, two, three. Shiver.

"Babe," Ranger groaned.

"You know what I think?" I whispered.

"What?" he asked, taking another tentative step closer.

"I think you've been fantasizing about tonight for a long, long time."

"You have no idea," he admitted.

"Do I look the way you want me to look?" I did a little shimmy for him against the pole.

"Better than I ever imagined," he sighed.

"Come here," I begged.

I could feel him just inches from me, still cautious. He was keeping to my side, making sure I couldn't kick out at him once he got close. He wasn't trusting me yet.

"2C," I whispered. "But you had me going for a minute," I told him.

"What gave it away?"

"One, two, three. Breeze." My nipples puckered again and I shivered uncontrollably.

Ranger laughed silently to himself. "Sorry, Babe," he whispered, tracing my lips with his finger.

"I thought you didn't need handcuffs to enslave a woman," I reminded him.

"I don't. But tonight, you're going to find out how much fun they can be," he promised.

One, two, three. Shiver.

"What about the mist, and the chill?" I asked.

"Don't worry about it," he said. I could hear him sliding his t-shirt over his head and tossing it to the side. "It'll feel fantastic in a few minutes. It's about to get seriously hot in here."

One, two, three. Oh, yeah.


	38. The Wrap Up

I wasn't sure how long Ranger and I were honeymooning in 2C. There were no windows, so that glorious night just seemed to stretch on and on. A luxurious king sized bed covered with Ranger's glorious white sheets and a down comforter had been positioned ten feet behind me, right in the middle of what appeared to be the intersection of Hamilton and Broad. We made love right there under the blinking of the traffic lights, just out of rage of the mist machine, with the heart pounding sound of New Jersey traffic echoing all around us. The door was secure, the cameras were off line, and the fridge had been stocked with food and water. Ella had even left me cake. We had our own shower and restroom with plenty of clean towels, and we each had a bag packed with toiletries and sweats. We lounged and loved and ate and slept and talked and loved and played. We didn't come out until we were more than satisfied with our time together.

By the time we emerged, Connie and Lula had the company established and the office furnished. The letterhead read "Stephanie Plum Male Bonds". And we already had a customer. Connie had made an executive decision to have Kevin Barnhardt hard-wired at the bar and at home. Rangeman was recording his every word. If anyone could spot a gold digger, it was Kevin, and he was a notorious gossip. He couldn't help commenting, just like Joyce. So, a few keywords programmed to the watch list, and Kevin was scouting for us for free.

Brandon Sykes was an investment banker who was unaware that the voluptuous, dark eyed brunette he was seeing had formerly been attached to Dickie's late partner, Peter Smullen. Her name was Rita, and we'd met before. She had a lot in common with Joyce, but in truth, I think I liked Rita better. She was more talkative and she certainly had better fashion sense. Anyway, Brandon's mother was delighted to sign our contract for services. And with Lula and Connie assisting with clothes and makeup, my own mother wouldn't have recognized me. Rita sure didn't. Let's just say, Brandon's developed a case of cold feet, possibly due to some perceived body odor issues, and Rita's begun suggesting that they start seeing other people. Thanks to Connie's chemical sabotage, they never even knew what hit them.

Bunchy was still working mall security at Potomac Mills, when he noticed he'd been given a counterfeit $20 as change for his falafel at the food court. A store by store inspection revealed that the mall was rife with counterfeit $20's. He called Ranger and within a few days, Stephanie Plum Male Bonds had been called to duty. Bunchy briefed us on how to spot the funny money, and we were wired for sound. Rangeman was scouting possible targets, and we ladies got up-close and personal with the suspects. It only took three days to ID the criminals and follow them to their apartment. Bunchy called it in to his former boss at the Treasury Department. Agent Boris Bronfman was subsequently reinstated, and the whole misappropriation of resources issue was brushed under the rug, as if his boss had the foresight to place Agent Bronfman at the mall for the very purpose of busting this counterfeit ring. Upon hearing this, Bunchy requested his back pay, and he got it. Now he's got enough money for a top quality eyebrow and back wax once a week, which he's finding greatly increases his dating success, just like Lula promised it would.

Joyce and Grant Lawrence were both sentenced to the same anger management class. During the course of their sessions, they discovered to their dismay that they had something in common - an intense hatred of Stephanie Plum. Joyce gave Grant the confidence to give up his enhanced hair piece and go bald. He looked a lot edgier. I hated to admit it wasn't a bad look for him. Grant got a new job as bounty hunter for Vincent Plum Bail Bonds. He was in good physical shape, and could provide backup for Joyce as needed. They found it was a lucrative partnership. Everyone was happy. Joyce and Lawrence were bringing in the high bond skips, Vinnie was making money again, and I was delighted to be sleeping in the security and comfort of the seventh floor, where the dastardly duo couldn't reach me.

Lawrence was required to pay restitution for the damage to my apartment. I delivered the check plus two cases of beer to Dillon when I picked up the few possessions he'd managed to salvage from my apartment. I had let my lease go, and Dillon and I actually cried when we said farewell. We had bonded over a lot of beer and blood stains over the years. I knew he would think of me everytime he steam cleaned the hallway in front of my apartment.

Not surprisingly, Morelli recovered fairly quickly from my marriage news. Connie tried to break it to me gently that Morelli had been seen around town with Angie Bono, who you might remember helped Carol Zabo tie Joyce naked to a tree one time. I had to say, of all the people he could have chosen to date, I was glad it was Angie Bono. Anyone who could ruin Joyce's day like that was okay in my book.

I took Randy Greenberg with me to visit Hal. They hit it off right away, spending some time bonding in the rehab gym. They compared injuries, and started pumping iron. I snuck out before they were done. I feared there might be towel snapping next, and I didn't want to risk being a target. Randy picked Hal up once he was released, and gave him a place to stay until he could get back on his feet. Hal tried out for the linebacker position, and was signed on the spot, with the help of Randy's agent, who was now Hal's agent too. Hal had a new team, and a new career. All Randy really had to teach him was to smile while signing autographs. It took a while for Hal to realize it was okay to stop being scary. He made a couple of little kids cry before he figured it out, but it was all downhill for Hal after that.

Hank was back on the racing circuit on the weekends thanks to Connie's cousin, Manny Rosolli. He gave permission for them to take whatever they needed from his salvage yard, as long as Hank put his company logo on his car, jumpsuit, and helmet. With "Rosolli Salvage" on his back and "Qwikie Mart" on his chest, Hank was winning races and Connie was waiving the checkered flag. They were having the time of their lives.

Tank and Lula got married. They didn't talk about marriage. It happened a lot like their previous engagement. They got drunk in Atlantic City and woke up married. Connie was still scouring Atlantic City for anyone who may have wedding photos, because rumor had it that Lula was not wearing sequins and Tank was not wearing Rangeman black. Rumor had it that they weren't wearing anything at all. I wasn't too sure I wanted to see those photos, and I was pretty sure Connie wasn't going to be able to find those photos before Ranger managed to have them erased. In fact, I suspected that every cell phone in the Atlantic City area code had probably been wiped overnight. Anyway, the Wedded Bliss Chapel of Love had completed the necessary paperwork, and the State of New Jersey concurred that the wedding actually took place. So, Lula put her ring back on, and life went on pretty much as before with the exception of the living arrangements on the fourth floor. Lula moved in with Tank, which was fine, except that her wardrobe didn't fit. If Tank thought Lula agreeing to Rangeman black in the building meant she was going to part with her extensive collection of lingerie and star spangled spandex, he was gravely mistaken. In the end, she took over the entire apartment next door as her own personal closet. Tank put in a connecting door for easy access. It wasn't long before the whispering started about Tank being pussy whipped. Lester was brave enough to tease Tank within ear shot of Lula a few days later. Lula disappeared, only to return a minute later with her riding crop. She chased Lester from one end of the building to the other, showing him what a real whipping felt like. Tank stood stoically at his post in the control room. I wasn't sure, but I thought for a minute that I saw him staring longingly at a photograph in his wallet. I was pretty sure it was of Celia's cats.

That's all folks! Hope you enjoyed the ride.


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